Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful
by CaptainOzone
Summary: Bk2 of Prophesized. Arthur has embraced Merlin's magic with open arms, but when the time is right, how will he be able to open the eyes of others? A sequel to SMN. The after-effects of my Reveal. No slash.
1. No Longer Alone

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: **In anticipation for series 4 (OCTOBER 1ST, EVERYONE!), I decided that I should get on with a sequel to "A Soul, A Mentality, A Name"**_**(if you have not read it, I suggest reading it to understand some references**_**) because I have the feeling that after series 4, there will be no real reason for me to write a sequel. I'm planning to make this a 3-5 chapter fic, told mostly from Arthur's point of view (though I have to say, I do prefer writing in Merlin's... :P). I feel that not enough Reveal fics actually go in depth into the complications behind revealing Merlin's magic to the public, so that is what I'm going to try to cover here. Therefore, I should admit that there won't be a lot of action in this fic. If all goes well, I hope to be finished before the 3rd episode.**

Warnings: swearing, mild violence (I hope) and...well, if I told you that bit, I might give away some of the story...though you may already suspect ;)

So I now introduce: Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful. :D Enjoy.

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><p><strong>No Longer Alone<strong>

"Rise and shine!"

Merlin's cheery voice only just managed to break through the warm, heavy, pleasantly buzzing blanket of sleep covering Arthur's mind. It sounded like someone was calling to him from a distance across high-peaked mountains… or from the depths of an extremely long cavern…or from underwater…or perhaps it sounded more like the deep, soft whisper of the wings of a bumblebee at his ear… _Hm…_

He just flipped over and sighed, falling deep under that cozy blanket once again.

Then there was the annoying racket and clanging as Merlin flung the curtains open, and a brilliant burst of searing sunlight flooded into the room, which, of course, just _had _to activate an atrocious, pounding headache.

Arthur flinched at the abrupt, blinding, red glow he saw through his eyelids, and he groaned loudly, instinctively pulling his bed-covers over his head.

"Go away!" he muttered irritably. His eyes screwed together, and one hand kneaded his throbbing temples.

It was as though he could _feel _Merlin's smirk at him through the thick blankets, and suddenly, they were torn forcibly away from his head and off of his body.

Oh, so it was one of _those _days.

Arthur's eyes flew open. "MERLIN!" he roared. Ignoring the nausea rising in the pit of his stomach, he sat up quickly with a glare towards the raven-haired boy, whose infectious smile widened and whose brilliant blue eyes were still accented with the glorious gold of magic.

For a moment, Arthur blinked in astonishment, and then everything came rushing back to him. The Gvarath…was gone; defeated… with the help of a sorcerer—no, Dragoon…who was—is—in reality, _Merlin_… his friend… his story… _the song_.

Arthur must have hesitated a moment too long in shock because Merlin's smile faltered, and a worried, crazed light began to creep into his eyes.

A subtle throbbing hit his heart. The boy was still afraid, he realized... _He didn't honestly think that I wasn't going to remember all that we've been through? Not remember every sacrifice and story? _Arthur asked himself in hurt disbelief, contemplating Merlin's face.

_No, that wasn't it._ His friends had accepted him, embraced his gifts, and had given him the thanks he deserved—though in his mind, Arthur knew that he had hardly begun to repay the debts he owed to Merlin nor would he ever fully do so. He searched the warlock's face, and in seconds, he placed it.

He even admitted that it was his greatest fear. Merlin felt that he was going to be treated differently, and he was afraid that they may never again see him as the goofy, bumbling manservant that they'd all come to love and know and only see the powerful, law-breaking, potentially dangerous sorcerer. He was struggling to find the balance that he had hidden away—the balance of the foolish, sarcastic goofiness that he had used as his mask, which still remained a huge part of him, and the incredible intelligence and power of his magic that he had only sometimes allowed to slip out and reveal—and while he was struggling to find that balance, Arthur knew that the others, and possibly he himself, would be struggling to fully _understand_ what it was that Merlin was going through and to fully _understand _that new balance. They may have accepted him, but they did not fully understand. That was where the fear originated.

Furthermore, Arthur realized, he must now feel even more out of place…because both he and Arthur knew that he wasn't just a servant—no, not anymore, and he was afraid of this new position, this new change... this new _promise_.

Arthur felt a sudden, unconscious, subtle resolve harden in his mind, but he could not identify what it was he promised himself to do. No, his damn headache was making it quite hard for him to formulate much deep, coherent thought.

"Too lazy to pull away the sheets away yourself, Merlin?" Arthur teased weakly.

Merlin's retort was instant. "I did do it myself."

_Oh, ha ha, Merlin._"You know what I mean," Arthur snapped half-heartedly, realizing the folly in wording the question that way. He _knew _that Merlin's magic was as much a part of him, physically and mentally, as it was for him to walk, talk, and breathe.

Merlin sighed. "I believe we established that there _is _a difference between 'lazy' and 'practical'. Forgive me if I wanted to keep a safe distance from your flailing limbs…."

He trailed off, and after a brief silence, he added quietly, "It doesn't bother you, does it? Because… I could—_not_—I mean—if you wanted me to, Arthur."

Arthur groaned again as another stampede of pain rushed through his brain, and he very slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and put his head in his hands.

"You...you're asking…?" Arthur asked incredulously, looking up into the boy's wide, loyal, fearful, innocent blue eyes, eyes so oxymoronic and fascinating, eyes that could transform into golden orbs of power, wisdom, and strength in a fraction of a heartbeat. To think that Merlin had just offered to deny his true self even further, even longer, than he already had for Arthur's sake!

Arthur didn't want that, not anymore. He wanted Merlin to be free, to be who he had always wanted to be and always had the potential to be; he wanted to finally _know_ his friend…and he most certainly wanted to continue to learn about it all and to see him do magic. It was thrilling to watch.

"Shut up, Merlin."

He watched with satisfaction as Merlin's face brightened when he realized that, through his brusque, familiar retort, Arthur revealed that he did not care that Merlin had magic nor did he want Merlin to feel that he should hide it any longer.

"Though, you must promise me, Merlin, to be careful," Arthur added quietly, locking eyes with the gangly young man. "Just because I know now doesn't mean that you should relax your vigilance. You should guard your magic with your life…until the time is right."

Merlin gave Arthur a look of almost insulting astonishment before smiling blindingly. "I'm always careful, Arthur. I would be dead by now if I wasn't. And you wouldn't believe how much like Gaius you sound….I've actually gotten that a few times today from both him and Gwen."

Arthur chuckled; Gaius and Gwen were most likely to have given him a speech and lecture. _For good reason_, the Prince thought worriedly. He could expect Merlin to give himself away in a moment of pure impulsiveness and eagerness. He shuddered to think…_And to think Gaius lived with this worry for the idiot for _years, he suddenly realized. Arthur found himself respecting the elderly physician all the more. Merlin must've been a handful.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"A bit past midday," Merlin said cheerfully, starting to absentmindedly work at clearing the mess of Arthur's room as he talked.

Arthur watched him wonderingly. _Why isn't he just using magic?_ Arthur asked himself. _Why was he even bothering…?_

"Gaius thought that it would be best," Merlin continued, "not to let everyone sleep all day or else our 'internal clocks'—as he called them—would get confused and flip our sleeping schedules from night to day."

"Damn physician," Arthur swore under his breath, his newfound respect vanishing in a flash of irritation. More than anything, he wished he could just ignore Gaius's orders, slip back into bed to fall asleep, and just wallow in the misery of his hangover.

Suspicion crept up his spine, and he narrowed his eyes at the bustling warlock, who now had a towering pile of clothes in his arms.

"How are _you _feeling, Merlin?" Arthur asked, a slight smile on his lips.

Merlin stopped what he was doing and cocked an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be anything less than fine, Arthur?" If Arthur did not know Merlin so well, he would never have caught the hint of strain in his voice.

Arthur smirked and tried to quell the laughter bubbling up inside him at the memories. He caught him…and it was obvious Merlin was trying to avoid it.

"Oh, no reason," Arthur said with a forced nonchalance. "I just seem to recall you drinking far more than I did last night…and yet, you seem to have recovered miraculously."

Arthur had to hide the grin that threatened to spread across his face at the mortified look on Merlin's face. "Are you quite sure you're alright? You don't feel the sudden urge to—oh, I don't know—burst into song, make the furniture start dancing around the room with you? Perhaps the urge to set yourself on fire and make every other thing in the infirmary explode? Maybe to bonk heads with Gwaine to prove who has the harder head, only to end up with your foreheads glued together? To try to fix that by trying to use that _'Astrice' _spell and making both you and Gwaine fly across the room only to crash into the infirmary beds? Give Gaius, Leon, and Lancelot overgrown beards for suggesting that you should slow down on the ale? Hiccup colorful, floating balls of light and then…?"

Arthur couldn't go on. He snickered, then snorted, and finally, despite his painful headache, allowed a roaring waterfall of laughter to come pouring out of him at once. His eyes welled up with mirthful tears, and they trickled down his cheeks as he struggled for breath.

Merlin's face didn't help matters much at all. He was glaring at the Prince heatedly, but eventually, when Arthur gave no inclination that he was going to stop laughing anytime soon and when he realized that the look was hardly doing its job properly, the glare softened to a sheepish embarrassment and amusement.

When Arthur finally calmed enough from the giddy laughter, Merlin said seriously—though his eyes betrayed him and glinted with pure joy to see the Prince so uninhibited and happy—"I was going to relieve you of your hangover, but I'm not so sure you deserve it now."

There was his answer. _That's _how…

Arthur bit his bottom lip, his chest shaking with another wave of laughter as he tried to sober himself. He wanted to just release that laughter, but the sudden promise of a remedy for the wretched headache from Merlin only just overcame that desire—_only just_.

Merlin lips twitched at the sight of the Prince trying to bottle up his laughter, and he pretended to sigh wearily. He plopped the big pile of clothes onto a chair and padded lightly to Arthur's side.

"You have no idea how long it took me to clear everything up this morning!" he said, sitting next to the Prince. "You better be thankful that we weren't in _Gaius'_ chambers or I would've been spent the next _year _fixing everything we—er, _I_—" he corrected quickly, seeing Arthur's raised eyebrow "—damaged." He threw his hands up in the air. "And those balls of light are _still _bouncing around the room; Gaius had to close it off until I found a way to get rid of them!"

"Really?" Arthur snorted.

"Really. Now, move your hand, Prat," Merlin said.

With a scowl, Arthur did as he was told, and Merlin's cool, long fingertips replaced them, applying a far gentler pressure than Arthur had previously. Merlin muttered some words, and with a flash of sparkling gold, Arthur felt a stream of cool refreshment trickling through his mind like a stream, carrying away all nausea, pain, and fogginess with its calming flow.

Arthur sighed with relief, and Merlin's eyes faded to blue, shining with a newfound and utter joy as he realized, once again, that he could use his magic in front of his master without any fear of persecution.

"Handy spell," Arthur commented, grinning up at Merlin.

"Don't get any ideas. I already warned Gwaine that the more frequently it is used, the less potent the relief becomes." His brow became heavy, and he pursed his lips. "It's so ambiguous," he complained contemplatively. "I'm not sure if that means the spell becomes less powerful the more frequently you use it throughout the _day_ of one specific hangover or if it becomes less powerful as you continuously use it on multiple hangovers throughout the course of a _lifetime_."

Arthur frowned, seeing the complications. "Is magic always like that?"

Merlin shook his head, and he stood once again. "Not all of the spells are that...touchy. It's just my luck to need and use the ones that _are_."

Arthur barked a laugh. "So, no lasting damage from last night, whatsoever?"

"Nope," Merlin said smugly, popping the 'p'. "Gaius and Gwen managed to get me up to clean the infirmary and then to wake the Knights. I even healed their—erm—minor afflictions."

"Minor…afflictions?" Arthur repeated slowly.

Merlin blushed and turned to shuffle through the Prince's clean clothes. "Bruises, small burns… you know, I _did _warn you all. But, of course, you didn't listen to me." He gasped and gave Arthur a critical look-over. "Did I—is there anything—?" he asked worriedly.

Arthur shook his head and snickered, and Merlin exhaled with relief.

"Good," Merlin murmured.

With a jolt, Arthur asked, "How long have you been _awake_, Merlin? It must have taken quite some time to sort out your mess."

"It didn't take so long," Merlin muttered humbly and guardedly, avoiding his eyes.

_He—he shut me out! _Arthur thought indignantly. He didn't know what to make of that but decided not to pressure Merlin. He should be used to this by now and should expect to remain used to it. Merlin was naturally that way—he would talk when he was ready—but that didn't make it any less infuriating.

"Is there a reason you woke the Knights before me?"

Merlin tossed a simple red shirt at his face. "Finally! A useful question! Now, hurry up, and get dressed. We're going for a ride."

"A ride?" Arthur asked incredulously at the abruptness of the idea, pulling the fabric from his head. He felt a rush of emotion. First astonishment and amusement—in reaction to the thought of _Merlin_ ordering _him _around. Then excitement—to simply go on a ride with his friends, for the fun of it (though if this was Merlin's idea, there was probably more to it than _fun_), was incredibly appealing to him. And finally crushing disappointment.

"Merlin…" he sighed, wincing with regret at the thought of Merlin's crest-fallen face. "I—I probably should report to the council…and my father—he needs to know I'm alright and well."

Merlin rolled his eyes, and he smiled victoriously, picking up the stack of dirty clothes as he spoke. "Your sense of duty amazes me, Arthur. Truthfully. But do you think I hadn't already thought about that? It's all been taken care of—Gaius talked to the council members, each of whom were quite impressed, though a bit _aggravated_, with the half-truth he told them about the Gvarath—another thing you don't have to worry about, might I add…"

"What did he tell them?" Arthur interrupted.

"He told them the truth," Merlin reassured him. "I believe he decided to even include that I was there with you; he just omitted the _magic _part of it."

Merlin looked pleased, but Arthur felt some emotion he couldn't place sting at his chest.

"They decided that you could have another day of peace before meeting with them again," Merlin continued brightly. Arthur frowned, sensing that Merlin was not telling him everything that had taken place. He was keeping something from him. "And Gwen told Uther that you're safe and would be in to see him later this evening."

Arthur's brow crinkled. "But wh—?"

Merlin's eyes glowed gold, and Arthur found an invisible force gently hauling him to his feet. He smiled to himself at how Merlin seemed to be using his magic without even thinking about it and merely _doing_…If _this_ was how ingrained that magic was in him—he used it so effortlessly—Arthur was even more impressed with Merlin's level of control and caution.

"You wouldn't want to disappoint everyone who decided to humor me this morning when I _very_ randomly asked them to help me get some food and horses prepared and when I refused to give them a proper explanation."

Arthur contemplated the young man before him, imagining the reactions of his Knights to whatever quirkiness that Merlin had displayed, and he concluded, "You're impossible, Merlin. How could you possibly foresee me going along with this?"

Merlin didn't answer, but he gave him a small, knowing grin.

Arthur understood, and he returned a genuine smile at the goofy boy, his heart filling with brotherly fondness for him and with gratitude for his uncanny ability to predict what it was Arthur wanted, what he _needed_: another day to simply be Arthur—not Prince Arthur, not Regent Arthur…just Arthur, the Arthur who recently uprooted a major, ingrained mentality and molded a new one for himself that contradicted everything he had been told and taught.

"Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm doing it for me as much as I am doing it for you," he said modestly. "No need to thank me."

Arthur disagreed with that, but he dropped it. "So _you o_rganized this?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, with some help from Gwen, of course. The picnic was her idea."

_So Gwen was coming along as well?_ "Where are we going?"

Merlin's stormy blue eyes didn't lose an ounce of their sunny playfulness, but a spark of dark wisdom flickered within the depths. "There's something I want to show you."

Arthur's interest leapt with his half-answer, and he was about to ask another question before getting cut off by Merlin.

"Would you prefer to ask questions, or do you want to see for yourself?" Merlin asked in exasperation.

"Fine," Arthur grumbled.

"Good, 'cause we haven't got all day." Merlin turned away with the armful of clothes. "We'll be waiting in the courtyard," he called over his shoulder.

"Wait!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly. Merlin turned, a questioning eyebrow raised.

Arthur didn't know exactly why or how it was bothering him, but it was. It was bothering him in the way an unbearable itch does...except this itch was underneath his skin, deep, deep inside, where he could not scratch it.

There was an awkward silence, and Merlin finally prompted, "Yes?"

Arthur blinked and began rather awkwardly. "You don't have t—just leave the clothes, Merlin. I'll fetch someone else to do them for me."

The warlock's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then they became interestingly unreadable.

"I bet I could finish washing them and still manage to beat you to the courtyard," Merlin finally said with a defiant cheekiness. Without another word, his eyes became golden, and Arthur's chamber door flew open.

Arthur watched as Merlin, taking extra care to avoid the door-frame, gawkily strode through and as he walked away. The door closed behind him with a soft _click_.

Staring at the doorway for a moment, he shook his head, the unexplainable itch grating away at his mind ever more ardently.

~…~

The pounding of horse's hooves, the exhilarated whooping of Merlin, the hollering of the Knights behind them, and the whoosh of wind surrounded him. Another sound, his own wild laughter, added and blended to the mix of sounds, and he felt the comforting weight of Excalibur jostling against his leg with every gallop.

With a wide grin, he briefly looked back at the Knights and Gwen; the distance between them was slowly lengthening as they reacted too late to Merlin's challenge of a race.

Now it was only him and Merlin.

He bent low over his horse and urged it on, and he saw, only just ahead of him, Merlin doing the same. To his credit, Merlin was an accomplished rider—he sat on a horse with a deceptive poise and grace, bouncing effortlessly along with the speeding movements of the horse, but he was nothing to Arthur.

Arthur's horse leapt over a log, and he felt his stomach drop in absolute exhilaration. He felt so light and free—as though he was flying. He couldn't remember the last time he rode so quickly without armor on.

He saw Merlin look back at him and childishly stick out his tongue.

Arthur jabbed his heels—a little harder than necessary—into the horse's side, and with his heart pounding and mind rushing with adrenaline, he gained some ground and was now riding shoulder to shoulder with Merlin.

The two horses rolled their eyes and snorted at each other, partaking in the challenge just as much as their riders were and sensing the intense competitiveness between the raven- and golden-haired young men.

The ancient tree, bent to resemble an old woman stooping over a hearth, was becoming increasingly close. On a nonverbal consensus, the two had designated that tree as their finish line.

With a final burst of speed, Merlin's horse only just beat out Arthur's.

"You had a head start!" Arthur exclaimed as his excuse for losing.

Merlin beamed, his naturally tousled hair now a wild mess. "Barely!" he disagreed. "You were on my tail in less than a millisecond! I can only accept that excuse from the others," he said cheekily. "_That _is what I call a head start." He pointed down the trail, where Arthur could only just see the others following.

Arthur had to concede to Merlin's point there. Grinning at the remnants of the rush, he agreed, "Fine. You win, but _I_'m calling the rematch."

Merlin laughed and swung down from his horse.

Arthur frowned. "We can't be at this mysterious place you're taking us all to yet, can we?"

"No," Merlin said. "There's a stream nearby that we should leave the horses at, and then we can continue on foot. It isn't far at all."

Arthur waited expectantly for Merlin to perhaps reveal some clue as to where they were going, but he was disappointed. Dismounting, he grumbled incoherently under his breath about secretive warlocks.

The others finally caught up with them, and before they could say a word, Merlin teased, "What took you so long?"

Gwaine blew some hair from his face and chuckled. "Merlin, mate, I think you could just about outrun almost anyone."

"I bet that has to do with the fact he's all skin and bones," Percival added slyly. "The horse probably didn't even realize he was sitting on it."

"Ha-ha, Perce. Good one," Merlin said without enthusiasm.

The other Knights laughed. It was a joke that they all shared—they were forever teasing Merlin about his lanky physique, to which Merlin usually replied that he hardly had the time to fatten up as he was too busy running around after Arthur.

"It's a survival skill I learned," Merlin babbled jokingly, elaborating on Gwaine's point. "Yes, it's a very useful skill to have, especially for secret warlocks serving under trouble-seeking Princes, who manage to get themselves captured or kidnapped every other week. And it is reassuring to said secret warlock that can he escape in a multitude of ways, owing to the ever-present possibility of being arrested and executed for simply _breathing_."

Arthur's eyes widened at the light-heartedness in Merlin's tone. The Knights had similar reactions to Arthur, but it was Gwen, of course, who spoke out, "_How _can you even _joke_ about that, Merlin?"

Her voice was indignant and worried at the same time, and Merlin's smile faded. "Sorry," he apologized, hiding his eyes. "It's how I cope with the fact that it's the truth, that my very means of existence is hated, illegal, and considered evil in Camelot. I'm still uncertain if that will ever change, so I make a joke out of it. That way it hardly seems as bad as it truly is in reality." He smiled sadly. "It's a small comfort... but a comfort nevertheless."

Merlin turned away, implying that he did not want to continue speaking of it, and started to lead his horse. "C'mon," he said. "We're nearly there."

Arthur and Gwen exchanged a look, and an unspoken conversation took place.

Lancelot sighed. "Imagine living like that," he muttered, beginning to follow.

"He's far braver than we give him credit for," Leon agreed.

Elyan carefully lowered himself from the saddle, wincing slightly. His wound from the Gvarath was still bothering him. "He's incredible," he said simply. "I don't think I would be able to do what he has done."

"What I find most incredible," Arthur added quietly, "is that he continues to be so…_Merlin_…and so _modest_ about his power, which is far greater than I can even hope to comprehend. I feel that what we have seen is only a drop of what he has in him. I hate that he feels so…_ostracized _because of the fear my father placed in the minds of the people." Arthur pondered the raven-haired servant ahead. "And, what is more," he added to himself, "he's still here…by my side."

"Are you coming or not?" Merlin called, turning back.

"Hold your horses, we're coming!" Arthur shouted.

Gwaine pursed his lips in mock thoughtfulness. "I don't think he'd willingly let his horse go gallivanting through the forest, Arthur. He needs it for the ride back."

"Shut up, Gwaine," Arthur muttered as he began to follow Merlin's path.

~…~

Arthur was the first to recognize the place. "You didn't have to bring us here, Merlin," he said, his throat suddenly thickening.

Merlin had led them to a lake.

It was beautiful—the sunlight danced across the deep blue waves in a hypnotizing, spell-binding pattern. Snow-peaked mountains loomed in the distance, and a small semi-circle grove of trees protected the bank and adjoining grassy clearing from human interference.

Another might have seen this as an ordinary lake, but Arthur knew better. He knew that the waves sparkled far too brightly, that the water was far too blue. He felt the sweet magic of the place—fickle and wild yet subtle and gentle. It reminded him—in a way—of Merlin's.

Merlin's cerulean eyes became as unfathomable as the lake. He did not turn to face Arthur, and he ignored the reactions of the slightly delayed Knights as the realization hit them as well.

"Is this—?" Gwen began quietly.

"This is where…." Leon and Percival said together.

"This," Merlin began in a soft, wavering tone that caused the Knights to instantly quiet themselves and listen, "is the Lake of Avalon. Some call it the land of eternal youth."

Merlin suddenly walked a few paces forward and knelt on the grass. He absentmindedly tore at it. "I first saw this lake when I discovered a plot for Arthur's life—and that was my first confrontation with the Sidhe. I took my first swim in its waters when I was nearly too late to stop them and had to dive in to pull him out; he was drowning."

Arthur and the Knights exchanged looks, recalling the full story of Sophia and her father…That had been years ago.

"This is where I first hid your sword, Arthur," Merlin said, and all but he looked at the sword at Arthur's hip. "This is also where I laid Freya to rest." His voice caught, and he swallowed convulsively against tears Arthur knew were rising. Gwen broke away from the line of stunned Knights and knelt beside him, placing a warm hand on his trembling shoulder.

Merlin acknowledged her gesture by taking her other hand and squeezing it gently. He steeled himself and continued, "It was these waters that also provided the information necessary to defeat Morgana… Freya—with the power of her promise to me and the lake's magic—spoke to me and helped me to retrieve the sword. She handed it to me herself, out in the deepest part of the lake. I'm not sure how it was possible," he whispered hoarsely.

Merlin paused, and his mouth opened as if to say something else, but he hesitated uncomfortably, unsure if he should go on. The moment vanished quickly. His eyes hardened with determination, and his voice became even softer. "This is a…_private_ place. I came here to think. Every time I was stressed, confused, hurt, scared, sad, _lonely…_because of what I had to do—lie—day in and day out, because of everything I have done, because of the responsibility and destiny I carried with me, because of the weight of the _guilt_ I felt for the outcomes of certain decisions…_every time_ I thought that there was no one that would understand, I slipped away and came here."

Merlin brusquely brushed away at a renegade tear and bowed his head in remembrance for what this place meant to him, and the rhythmic, soft tumbling of the water on the bank was the only sound to pervade this special moment.

For that was what it truly was. Arthur was touched by Merlin's words…and by the mere fact that he decided to share something so private, something that represented so much of Merlin's truth and pain, with them all. The other Knights were staring wide-eyed at Merlin, and Arthur decided to break the silence. He was the first to move.

He squeezed Merlin's other shoulder and repeated, "You didn't have to bring us here, Merlin."

Merlin's tear-filled blue eyes finally wrenched themselves from the waves and looked into Arthur's. His face broke into a weak version of his familiar lopsided, impish smile, and he said, "Of course I did, Arthur. This place represented my loneliness, my solitude, and my deepest secrets. It witnessed much of the pain I had to hide. I had thought about it over and over again. To me, it is only fitting that I bring _you _here—you all here—to not only apologize for not trusting you in the first place, for not giving you the _chance _to understand, but to prove to _myself _that I don't have to be alone anymore…I don't have to _hide_."

Merlin's smile widened until it finally reached his eyes. His voice grew stronger, and he declared, with the air of a man that wished he could have said the words long ago, "Thank you. I am no longer alone."

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><p>AN: Forgive my mistakes... It's been a long week, and I probably should've done another read-over. If you see anything that horrifies you, please let me know. I can't stand seeing incorrect grammar in my writing. :P<p>

Another thing: updates will be extraordinarily random. Sorry about that.

**Edit 06/12: Holy cow, after reediting SMN (with it's overly generous use of the simple sentence), it feels as though a completely different author wrote this! :o Sorry. I felt the indescribable need to comment on that... Carry on. ;)**


	2. Why?

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: :) I'm sorry I took so long! This was a bit of a toughie for me to write... every little action bit is for me *rolls eyes* I suppose that's why I prefer the angsty stuff. :D Enjoy!

Warning: A bit more than "mild" violence, I would think... and swears

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><p><strong>Why?<strong>

"Merlin?" Elyan asked, picking thoughtfully at his food. "Can I ask you something?"

Arthur, who was having some trouble concentrating with Gwen snuggled up beside him and was having _major _trouble keeping his eyes off of her shapely legs, which were hugged closely by tight riding leggings, immediately flicked his eyes upward, his attention solely focused on the young warlock.

Arthur had known that it wasn't going to last, and Merlin obviously had known as well. He knew that it was inevitable, that there were things that still needed to be addressed and understood. It was only a matter of time before those serious conversations needed to be held; it was only a matter of time before other questions needed to be answered.

Merlin had long since casually and magically set up the large blanket and baskets of food with a joyful smile, teasing and babbling about how he was eventually going to turn them all into some more grotesquely fat, lazy lords (Arthur had to admit that there was certainly a surplus of those) by conveniently taking it upon himself to do all the work so effortlessly and swiftly with his magic. Then he went on to question why there was enough food there to feed a small army, to which Gwen, who had prepared the food, had sagely responded, "well, we _are_ a small army, aren't we?"

Merlin's jokes broke the spell of awe that the others seemed to be under, and they all tucked in—Percival and Gwaine, who had immediately located the flask of cider Gwen had thoughtfully placed there for him (resulting, much to Arthur's chagrin, with a sloppy kiss on her cheek), led the pack of ravenous men—laughing and joking along with Merlin and then eventually starting to laugh and joke _about _Merlin. He was never going to live the previous night down.

Arthur had been impressed by both Merlin, who had effectively reminded them that he was no different from the goofy servant they had known before, and the Knights, who quickly dropped their slightly awkward uncertainty and did not comment or question further on the warlock's speech.

It was a beautiful day: the sun shining, the warm, playful breeze kissing their cheeks, the skies clear of threatening rain, and it was a beautiful time. Some might be so bold as to say that it was a _magical _time.

They, sitting in their circle near the bank of the Lake of Avalon, were equals. They were friends, gathered to celebrate in each other's company. They had left their armor behind and wore their everyday, common clothes—shaggy boots, loose tunics and vests—and the only mark that they were of vastly different social statuses was the gleaming sword at every Knight's hip and Merlin's lack thereof.

_It was only inevitable that we would come in a full circle_, Arthur mused.

"Of course," Merlin answered with a goofy smile. "You don't have to ask to ask me something."

"He wanted to ease you into it, mate," Gwaine stated, swirling the flask in his hand and receiving a glare from Elyan. "What?" he protested. "It's the truth!"

Merlin blinked at Gwaine's bluntness and shook his head. "You shouldn't have to," he murmured. "I don't want any of you to feel uncomfortable to talk to me. I don't want you to think that you might hurt my feelings, and I most certainly don't want you to fear my reaction. Just ask. Please? I _want_ to talk about it—well, about _most_ of it. That is, after all, another reason I brought you here."

There was an awkward silence, but Gwen said, watching Merlin carefully, "Go ahead, Elyan."

Elyan, to his credit, did not lower his eyes from Merlin's piercing gaze. "I was wondering," he began slowly, "Well, we were talking earlier—when we were waiting for you and Arthur—and…we were wondering…why?"

Merlin's eyes automatically flickered to Arthur. He chuckled and repeatedly slowly, "Why?"

"We know _what _you have done and how you've done it, but you never really spoke about _why_. We do not understand_,_" Leon clarified. "It's not that we're not grateful," he apologized quickly, "It's just that…you've done so much for us, without seeking a reward or even _recognition_. Why do you…do it? Why do you continuously risk your life? And why—" here Leon paused uneasily "—why are you…_different_ than the—the others?"

Arthur briefly closed his eyes and felt the corners of his lips turn upward, recalling that he had asked 'Dragoon' much of the same questions. He had been given those answers, but even still, he was just as eager to hear them again, knowing that now Merlin's secret was revealed, he could speak even more openly on the subject.

Merlin smiled peacefully, and his eyes grew hazy with dreams. He raised them to the clouds. "Am I any different than you?" Merlin asked gently. "Do I have to be a knight and have to practice swordplay to be able to protect my friends and home? Do I have to have an excuse? Do _you_?" His eyes sharpened with a new, vibrant light as he looked back at them all, and he stopped speaking to let those thoughts sink in.

"While I am not a knight and completely useless with a sword, I have my magic, and I will wield it—as do you with your swords—as I see fit, to do what I believe is right. No one can take that right away from me, so long as I live. The way I see it: if I have the power to help, to prevent pain and suffering, to keep someone I love safe… why shouldn't I?

"Now, why am I different than the others?" he said with a slight bitterness at the thought of the other sorcerers. "It is pure belief. They don't know what I know; they haven't seen what I've seen."

He sighed. "Have you ever realized that most Druids do not use their magic to harm Camelot?" Without waiting for a nod or confirmation from the others, he answered his own question. "That is because they, like I, believe, with every ounce and fiber of their bodies, in my destiny and the Prophecies. The song that Arthur, Kilgharrah, and I used to unlock the secret of defeating the Gvarath was only one such Prophecy. I haven't seen or heard any of the others in full nor do I want to." Merlin gave Arthur a warning look that confused the Knights, but while Gwen sniggered at the memory, Arthur's cheeks flushed.

"The other sorcerers," Merlin continued, "the ones you see as evil—and for good reason—do not believe. They either do not know of the prophecies, have little faith that they will ever come to pass, or are simply bad people…corrupted and evil. Then there are the ones confused and hurt, vengeful for the pain that the Purge had caused them. With the poison of vengeance singing in their blood, they don't wish to believe… So it is belief… and my own moral code, my own sense of friendship and loyalty…It is just who I am. That is why I am different."

He turned to Arthur, now speaking directly to him. "And there is another reason. The reason—the only reason—I have magic…is you." Arthur froze in astonishment, but Merlin took no notice and joked, "And as sappy and pathetic as it sounds, you anchor me to this world, Arthur. Without you, I am nothing."

Arthur had heard most of these words in some form before, but that did not make them any less powerful or meaningful. It made him shiver with absolute incredulity to think of the extreme level of loyalty and selflessness that resided in his friend's every action and word, and for the first time, he realized the extent to which Merlin believed in _him_. _Him!_ He had _seen_ Merlin's _aura, _something he would _never_ forget, and he knew that he couldn't even begin to compare himself to Merlin, whose character was as clear and true as the blue of his eyes, no matter what he insisted had tainted it.

But the most striking thing was the simple fact that Merlin believed in him even more than even his father, even his Knights, and perhaps even _Gwen_. It made him glow with pride and feel desperately unworthy of such praise at the same time.

That was when he decided: he _wasn't _going to let Merlin down. Not ever.

"The Dragon spoke of these Prophecies, didn't he, Merlin?" Lancelot asked suddenly. "I remember his words: 'Everyone is given a name. A rare few are born with a name.' He said that your name was _Emrys_."

Merlin flinched, and Arthur saw Percival smile from the corner of his eye. "Yes," he said guardedly, "that is what he meant by using that name. It is what the Druids call me."

"What does it mean?" Gwen asked. "Why do they call you _Emrys_?"

Merlin frowned. "I don't know _why_…nor do I want to know. It just is."

Arthur waited for him to answer her other question, but when it became obvious that he was avoiding it, he asked, "So what does it mean?"

Merlin shot him a vicious and desperate glance, but Arthur knew that he would not refuse to answer. "'Immortal'," he muttered. "Kilgharrah said that it means 'immortal'."

The others sat stunned, wondering what true significance was behind the meaning, but Gwaine laughed suddenly. "They can't mean that literally," he scoffed.

Merlin just shrugged. "Dunno. I don't like to think about it."

"Why wouldn't you?" Elyan asked. "Don't you want to know what happens in the Prophecies?"

Merlin shuddered. "I know enough. The summaries are overwhelming as it is. To know each in its entirety?" He shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Summaries?" Leon asked, curiously.

"Emrys is not only bonded with the Once and Future King by fate, but he is also supposedly the most powerful sorcerer that ever existed…and will ever exist," Percival muttered helpfully.

Arthur, for a moment, didn't know which surprised him more: Percival's words or the fact that _Percival_ knew them in the first place, but then he recalled Percival speaking of it the night before—when he found out that Merlin had magic…he revealed his people's connections to the Druids. So, in the end, he decided the words were far more surprising.

_It couldn't be true, could it?_ Arthur thought. He had known that Merlin was extremely adept with his skill, but he had never expected this. Merlin, _his_ Merlin, the young man so eccentric and brilliant, so clumsy and goofy…the most powerful sorcerer? He didn't believe it…until Merlin confirmed it himself by shooting an indignant, dangerous, and exasperated look to Percival, who didn't seemed fazed in the slightest by the seriously frightening gaze.

"Merlin, you look like you're about to zap Percival into oblivion," Gwaine teased with an easy smile, though his eyes studied the young man before him curiously.

"Is he right, Merlin?" Lancelot and Elyan asked simultaneously.

Leon just blinked in astonishment, and Gwen nodded her head and hid the knowing smile on her face. Arthur saw, and he guessed that she had suspected this.

Of course, Merlin ignored them all and avoided their eyes, waiting for the Prince's reaction—for that is what mattered the most to him.

"You weren't going to mention this, Merlin?" Arthur finally said weakly.

Merlin shuffled in embarrassment. "No," he admitted humbly, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "I don't think about it."

He turned to Percival. "Thanks, Perce," he sighed, ignoring the others as though they weren't there.

"They should know how powerful you are, Merlin. _Arthur _especially."

"What if _I _don't even know that?" Merlin asked, his voice breaking and his eyes deranged.

"How could you _not _know?" Percival asked in confusion.

Merlin pursed his lips and opened his mouth to say something, but the strangest thing happened.

He twitched, and closing his eyes, his head cocked the barest fraction of a centimeter towards the dense forest, as though he was listening for something. His brow creased with worry and concern, and his eyes flashed open with a hard glint that Arthur recognized in an instant. He had seen it so many times, in so many places, that he knew he could never mistake it: it was a glint of undeniable, stubborn, and indestructible determination.

Merlin immediately leapt to his feet, a very convincing mask on his face. If Arthur had not seen that odd hesitation, he would have believed the act. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Gwen asked in concern and surprise

"I think something upset the horses," Merlin said quickly, backing up towards the trees as he spoke, trying to hide obvious impatience and anxiety. Arthur immediately detected a lie, but he hid his suspicions. "I'll be just a moment."

"I'll come with you," Gwaine offered. "Just in case…to watch your back."

"No!" Merlin said, his eyes wide. "I mean, that really isn't necessary. I'm probably just being paranoid. I'll be right back," he said reassuringly with a broad smile. "Don't move."

"But—?" Arthur began.

"Promise me!" Merlin snapped sternly. Arthur was shocked into nodding, and his friend relaxed noticeably and said again, "Please. Just… don't move."

With that surprisingly forceful command and hidden warning, his careful, cheerful mask slipped, and he turned and disappeared into the trees. Arthur could hear his light footsteps as they broke out into a run.

In the span of three heartbeats, Arthur and the Knights all looked at each other, reading each other's thoughts exactly, and they all stood as one and began to stealthily follow the young warlock.

~…~

Arthur had never realized that Merlin was this _quick_. He ran and weaved through the trees like a wolf and leapt over fallen logs and small streams like a deer. He ran as though his life depended on it. _I suppose he's had enough practice_, Arthur joked grimly to himself.

They had already passed the horses, which were all fine, and any doubt was erased from Arthur's mind. Merlin had Sensed something was wrong.

But what? Arthur knew that the raven-haired young man had felt something…_magical_. Why else would he react as he did, lie, and then dash out like that? It was his habit and almost like a defense mechanism. Why else would he be so desperate to get them to stay by the lake? His curiosity became extraordinarily painful.

He, the Knights, and Gwen—seasoned spies, escapees, stalkers, and recreational hunters—were moving a lot more slowly, dodging carefully from tree to tree, as to not be overheard by Merlin. Arthur suspected that he was so focused on where he was going that he wouldn't have heard them anyway, but he wasn't taking any chances. He was going to find out what Merlin was up to, and he wanted to do so without being caught. As weird as it sounded, he wanted to study Merlin's actions without him being aware that he was there.

Suddenly, Merlin stopped, hiding behind a tree himself, trying to catch his breath. Then he peeked around the tree, looking at something… his face transfigured from one of genuine compassion to the polar opposite: it was full of disgust, horror, and deep hatred, which scared Arthur more than he'd like to admit. Those hideous emotions were overshadowed by a look of deep thought—calculating and…protective?

Arthur pulled Gwen close to his side, and he kissed her brow, which was heavy with intense worry, and knowing that the others could take care of themselves, he worked his way forward to catch sight of what Merlin was looking at.

He gaped, and Gwen beside him let out a small squeak of horror. He could not move in his horror at what he saw before him.

There, tied roughly to a tree, was a woman dressed in torn rags. Her shaggy, dirty-blonde hair was stiff and matted with sweat, blood, mud, and twigs. She looked as if she had been abused in the cruelest of ways. Welts crisscrossed over her bare arms and oozed with infection. Arthur saw a Druid symbol tattooed into her wrist that had traced over by the point of a knife. Over the left eye, horrifying cuts and bruises—obviously from the back-hand strike of a strong man with several rings—had made the eye swell shut. Her right eye—grey as the smoke of a campfire—flashed with horror and fear, and she struggled vainly and wildly against her bindings, tears streaking the filth on her face. Her sobs, cries, and pleas were mostly lost in the gag in her mouth. He felt the bile rise up in his throat.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

A tall, lanky man, prematurely gray-haired, armed with a black whip in his clunky, bejeweled hand and a multitude of daggers at his belt, was hovering over a small child—a girl, barely seven years of age with bouncing curls, obviously the woman's daughter, seeing as they shared the same remarkable grey eyes. She was scared and trembling, and she cowered away from his cold, pale blue eyes and horribly scarred face.

"I warned you," the man sneered to the woman in a voice slick as lantern oil. He spoke with a sigh, seemingly compassionate, with the air of a man implying that he did not want to do this…that she had brought this upon herself.

But—this was not true. His eyes were cold—frigid and inhuman. There was no sympathy or compassion there, and they were fixed greedily and triumphantly on the child. "I told you that if you resisted any longer, refused to give me what I wanted, I _would_ take it out on your daughter."

The woman thrashed, her one good eye narrowed with hatred and pain. He turned to look at her with a crooked, ruthless grin. "And all that I can say…is that it's all. your. _fault. _The price of loyalty," he mocked, "is certainly a _hefty _one, isn't it, gorgeous?"

The woman wrinkled her nose, and her eyes burned defiantly.

Turning back to the little girl, he knelt down beside her, and unraveled the whip from his belt. "Say good-bye to Mummy, little one. Tell her that you love her," he whispered into her ear.

The little girl looked over to her mum and bit down on her lip. The woman shook her head, and her eyes spoke for her. They said: "Don't, dear. Don't listen to the bastard. Don't give him the satisfaction. I know you love me as much as I love you. Never forget that."

The man waited expectantly and then an impatient scowl appeared on his face. "What a shame. Positively a shame…" He grabbed a handful of the young girl's curls and yanked; she cried out as he manhandled her and threw her down to the ground. "Maybe, I was wrong to assume that after this," his eyes flickered to the woman with sardonic, sick glee, "you would be more keen to talk. But you know what? I don't _care_. I'm not taking chances."

Arthur saw that the man was raising the whip, going to bring it down...with a sickening _crack_ against her innocent, faultless body… Indignantly and furiously, he reached for his sword…

The whip slipped out of the horrible man's hand, as though pulled by an invisible rope, and it was caught deftly by Merlin, who had finally revealed himself, his eyes burning gold.

Arthur shivered at the look on Merlin's face, and Gwen beside him looked no less fearful at the power of the hatred etched there. It was scary—scary and dangerous.

He had been anxious to run in there without a second's thought, but now, after a moment's hesitation, he relaxed his stance, keeping a hand firmly on Excalibur's hilt, and shrank back into the shadows. Merlin was more than capable of handling this on his own.

In surprise, the man released the girl's hair and began to whirl around, but before he could, Merlin thrust his hand outward, forcing the man to fly through the air and crash and tumble harshly into the hard ground.

The woman froze for the first time in her vain struggles in complete bemusement, and when her eyes swiveled to Merlin, they widened, and once again they filled with tears…but to Arthur's astonishment, they were tears of relief.

Merlin rushed quickly towards the young girl, taking her hand gently and whispering something into her ear. He gave her a compassionate—though serious look—and finally the girl nodded, her dimples beginning to form with the hint of a hopeful, shy smile. Merlin watched her with a fierce protectiveness as she darted to her mother, hugged her quickly, and then moved behind the tree. Seeing her safe, Merlin turned and placed himself between them and the slightly wobbly man, who was now blinking away the dazedness and getting to his feet.

Merlin's eyes flickered darkly. They _shifted_—the color rolling and moving as though storm clouds of gold were trapped there in the sky of his eyes. He was _aura_-reading…and by the look on Merlin's face, Arthur knew that this man could nearly compare with the Gvarath.

Arthur's eyes were forced away from Merlin as the man let out a wild, hysterical, triumphant whoop. "It appears all your _loyalty_ was useless, gorgeous. It appears he's decided to join the party himself!" The icy blue eyes lit up with a maniacal glee.

Merlin blinked away his magic, stiffened suspiciously, and then, for no apparent reason, a look of pain came across his face. It took Arthur a moment longer for him to realize what Merlin had—that _he _was the one that the man truly wanted and that hefelt _he_ was to blame for the Druids' current predicament. He was completely thunderstruck by their loyalty to his friend, and he saw Merlin taking each wound on the woman as one twice as deep in his heart.

"I have a lot of money on you, _boy_," the man sang joyously, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. "Do you know that?"

"You're an _auctioneer_!" Merlin accused vehemently, his face hard with disgust. "How many more people have you murdered and tortured for information to sell? How many more will you? But…I shouldn't even ask, should I? I know what you are. Your soul is as cold as snow and nearly as dark as the Gvarath's. You are nothing short of a monster."

The man growled and switched grip on his dagger. "The witches told me about you." Merlin's eyes narrowed suddenly. "They warned me. I see now that they were right to assume that you wouldn't be easy…and that there are easier ways to get you, but no matter, _I_'m the best in the business. No man can best me," he said cockily. "I enjoy the challenge, and you'll be fun to play with."

Arthur thought that Merlin was going to snap right then and there, and he, too, felt a burning loathing for those words, reminded of the Gvarath.

Simultaneously, the man threw the dagger and shouted some words in the old language. Impossibly quick to react, Merlin immediately threw up a hand to stop the dagger first, which was aimed directly for the woman's ribs, before only just managing to avoid a red lightning bolt (Arthur suspected Merlin's ability to slow down time had a part to play there).

Gwen gasped beside him, clutching at Arthur's arm and digging her fingernails into his skin; Arthur was too stressed and worried about the selfless idiot and his charges to feel her unintentionally drawing blood, and he felt her heart racing in unison with his as she pressed against him. He was stuck—frozen by what he was witnessing.

Then—as quickly as it began—it was over.

Merlin barked a yell, and a ball of fire materialized in his hand, which he promptly shot at the heart of the cold, mad-eyed man, who was grinning with an impossible glee (_How many psychotic, sick people are out there?_ Arthur managed to wonder). It struck him with perfect aim.

The man's smile slipped off his face, and his breath caught in his throat. His fingers jerkily dropped the dagger he had just drawn, and they scrabbled desperately to his smoking, charred chest. Then, he fell forward, onto the knife he just dropped—dead.

Arthur's emotions were in complete turmoil, and many thoughts clambered and fought for priority in his mind. He fleetingly wondered why he was reacting this way. He had _seen_ 'Dragoon' fight with magic… why was it hitting him so hard now that it was not 'Dragoon,' per se, but _Merlin_ using the magic?

He was not aware at the moment, but he was on the verge of an epiphany far greater than the one he had had the night before when he learned of Merlin's magic—an epiphany that would change everything.

Unable to think straight, Arthur turned his attention back to Merlin, who stared at the body with steely determination. Then, to Arthur's confusion, he placed a long, pale hand over his own heart, and his face crumpled to one of pain, regret, guilt, and fear.

"He's terrified of what he had to become to kill him," Gwen murmured beside him, startling him severely. "Do you see? Nimueh shot him in that same way—" Arthur's eyes widened with the realization of the significance in the strange gesture.

Arthur turned to her, and smiled a bit regretfully, wishing that he had not allowed her to come along. "He shouldn't," Arthur muttered forcefully. "He shouldn't think that. The man did not deserve anything less."

"Nevertheless, he does," Gwen sighed sadly. "He's too…_Merlin_ not to. That proves, beyond doubt, why he _is _different than—" Suddenly Gwen nudged him to turn back around, "Look!" she whispered.

The little girl, her curls bouncing wildly, was flying across the grass to Merlin. She collided into his leg, nearly knocking him over, and she embraced him with everything that she had. She buried her face into the trousers, and her shoulders shook with the force of her tears.

Shocked, Merlin blinked and put a hand on her back, gently rubbing and shushing. He carefully entangled her from his leg and knelt to her level. "I promised you I would let nothing happen to you or your mum," he said quietly.

The little girl sniffed bravely, her lovely, lively grey eyes wide and her angelic face tear-streaked, but she slowly beamed and threw her arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Emrys," she whispered.

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><p>AN: Since this is a rather late post (oops), I should apologize in advance for any confusions or poor sentencegrammar structuring. :D I hope you like! :P


	3. Unexpected

****The more I thought about this chapter (with the help of some prompting and insight from one of my readers), the more unhappy I became with it. I have tweaked certain parts (and may continue to tweak), for my sanity, and seeing as my plans for the next chap will make Merlin's character seem completely bipolar if I didn't drop some of the angst, I needed to do it pretty badly; if you don't approve, those who read the original chapter already, let me know; I will work out something that'll make everyone happy. Thanks!****

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Geez, I'm sooo sorry about how horrible I am about updating. I blame it on Calculus *winces*...though, I have to admit, some of the blame for my tardiness goes to the incredibly awesome s4 opener. :D I can't wait for next Saturday.

Some background: 'Aislin' is a Celtic name meaning 'dream', and 'Enya' means 'little fire.' Also, the spell later on was used in 2x13 by Balinor. (I know he uses some herb gunk with the spell, so I'm sorry that I kinda use it a little differently here...though it has the same result). I thank Merlin Spell Wiki for it.

I got a Merlin POV in there at the beginning, and it is Arthur the rest. Forgive me, this is tedious and long... Actually, it was supposed to be _longer, _but I decided to cut that out and put it into the next chap. :) Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Unexpected<strong>

"Thank you, Emrys," she had whispered. Her hug had been warm and tight, and her voice had been heavily laden with a gratitude that could only be seen and heard from the very deepest, most sincere part of the heart… _Thank you_.

It had been only the smallest of doubts that flickered across his conscious as he looked down at the corpse of the auctioneer. He could not remember the last time he had felt so angry...and allowed that anger to control his actions. It wasn't just the Druids' peril that made him act so; no, that brutal, fiery anger had as much to do with his actions as his strive to protect the innocent. Perhaps even more so, and that shocked him to his core. That-that wasn't him, and for a heartbeat, that parasite of self-doubt wiggled into his mind.

_Nimueh…_painful flashbacks assailed his mind. It was far too easy to become as she was. What had he become to kill that man? Was he no better than she?

He remembered asking Gaius, long, long ago, if he was a monster. He remembered asking it with a shaky, joking tone, only just managing to hide his true fear at the thought of the answer. He would never forget Gaius's reaction—the tone of his voice, the look in his eye…_Don't ever think that._

It was hard to not think it. It was hard not to think it as he released Kilgharrah, who had turned on Camelot, years before; it was hard not to think it as he poisoned Morgana, who had been his friend. He couldn't help thinking it as he saw the fire he created reflect in those icy eyes—those icy eyes that had suddenly looked so afraid and human.

No, he couldn't help thinking it for the briefest of moments, even when he knew that the alternative outcomes of these problems had been _far _worse. Today, he saw the monster in him with more clarity than he ever had before. He saw Nimueh.

A small part of his logical mind questioned himself. He couldn't truly be a monster when he was fighting other monsters, could he?

He recalled with a burning fury of the man's _aura_—a pale, pale ice-cold blue, like his eyes. It may have been a completely different color than the Gvarath's, which had been blackened red, but it was the _same_. Both it and the man had reveled in torture and causing pain; they thought it was _fun_. They both had enjoyed hearing screams and destroying spirits. They both had liked the sight of blood and tears, and they both had been cocky in their abilities. The only difference: the man had been mortal with an evil streak, who, as Merlin saw, had had some potential for love and compassion. He _did _have some… for the wife he lost to his best friend's lust and the son he lost to Uther's axe, whereas the Gvarath had been the opposite—it had been evil to the core.

The man had done unthinkingly terrible things in his life and had plans to do more… _That _was a monster. But what did that make Merlin? He too had done some terrible things. Was he any different?

But then, milliseconds later…the girl, with an embrace so pure, innocent, and genuine, had thanked him, and immediately, Merlin felt a warmth seep into his heart. She reminded Merlin of why he fought and what he fought for. He fought for her. He fought for them all—his friends, his people, his kin—but most importantly, he fought for Arthur.

_I must be different, _Merlin thought as he felt himself mirroring the girl's smile, his doubt gone, _monsters don't get hugs like these._

That did not stop him from asking, in complete shock, "You—you're not afraid?"

The girl searched his eyes and face with a bright intelligence. Her brow frowned, and her hand hesitantly reached towards Merlin's cheekbone, obviously not wanting to invade his personal space without his permission. He did not draw away as her fingers traced over the fresh white scar across his cheek. Her grey eyes were soft with a mature compassion for the sacrifice printed there.

"Not anymore," she said finally. "You are here."

Merlin blinked, and a sudden rush of tears thickened his throat. Suddenly, with that pit of dark doubt gone from his mind, guilt—a horrifying, sinking guilt at what the Druids' had suffered—overtook him and crashed down upon him like a tidal wave. They suffered to protect _him_...

"What is your name?" Merlin asked kindly, his voice cracking. "Seeing as you already know mine?"

"My name is Enya," the girl said shyly, her eyes on the ground, watching her toes curl and uncurl into the lush grass.

"Enya," Merlin repeated with a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. The name was soft and warm on his tongue, tasting of dancing sunbeams in the air after a springtime drizzle. "Thank you."

"What for?" the blonde girl blurted, the instinctive child quality of curiosity overcoming that of bashfulness.

Merlin looked down at her wide eyes. "For reminding me," he answered simply. He saw that the child hardly understood, but he did not elaborate.

His eyes fell on her mother, who was now relaxing limply against her bindings to avoid putting any more unnecessary strain on her stiff muscles. Her eyes watched him inquisitively.

_Damn_, Merlin swore to himself. _I really _am _an idiot!_

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Merlin exclaimed concernedly, tripping over his feet in his rush to get over to her. He heard a strange sound as he caught himself, but when his eyes immediately flickered to look directly towards the source—it was another magical gift that he had been born with, alongside his quick and sharp eyesight—he saw nothing.

His eyes scanned the area skeptically. No, he didn't see anything, but he was sure he _felt _something...For a brief moment, he tried to formulate something coherent out of this impulsive instinct, but then Enya's small hand suddenly slipped into his, making him jump and lose his focus.

"Is something wrong, Emrys?" she asked worriedly, her eyes wide with fear.

He shook his head, and he said reassuringly, not before looking back once again towards the trees, "It's nothing."

_But it wasn't nothing_, Merlin knew as he apologized once again to Enya's mother and as he began to untie her. He shrugged his paranoia away; it must've just been a chattering squirrel calling to its mate or defending its home from another…_though, _Merlin thought with an exasperated sigh, _that squirrel's chatter sounded suspiciously like a suppressed snicker_.

Immediately after Merlin had carefully removed the woman's gag and had untied her from the tree, she knelt to the grass and squeezed her daughter fiercely, not ashamed to shed tears into the little girl's curls. "We're safe," she whispered again and again into Enya's hair. "I—I'm _so _sorry, Enya. So sorry."

"Don't be," the little girl responded. "It wasn't your fault, Mother."

Merlin stood back with a small smile, watching with the touching reunion respectfully and politely. As his eyes raked the woman's wounds critically and sympathetically, he felt a huge, sharp hook latch into heart and begin to rip and tear at it. The man had known exactly what he was doing—the wounds inflicted were ones that caused a great deal of pain, but they were also not so horrible as to take her anywhere near the brink of unconsciousness. Merlin cursed the man, the monster…

But he blamed himself. This was his fault.

Finally, she, refusing to let go of her child, looked up at Merlin. "I—I can't…_believe…_," the woman whispered musically, her eyes brimming with the light of relief and gratitude.

Merlin put up a hand. "Please, don't speak. Let me heal you, and then we can talk," he suggested kindly. He felt his eyes begging her to accept, so that he could temporarily release himself from that overpowering guilt…

The woman blinked, as though surprised, and she stuttered slowly, "I couldn't _possibly_ ask you to—you've already…"

Merlin winced at her obvious deference to him. She thought he shouldn't waste his time on her; she thought that he shouldn't bother with someone like her. He saw it in her face, in her eyes… he heard it in her voice. The worst of it all: she felt she was worthless in comparison to him.

Without a thought, he called upon his _aura-_reading magic. It was as instinctual to him now as his magic had been his whole life.

The woman's _aura_ was the color of the sky—she was a dreamer; she was calm, quiet, intelligent, and peaceful. She was fiercely protective, and she had a strong determination not to be broken by any man, beast, or situation. There was nothing she believed more than her motto: 'the sky's the limit,' and he had never seen such emotional strength in a person before; she rivaled even Gwen. Also, he saw that she, as young as she was (no more than half a decade his senior), had a powerful gift.

But, what surprised him the most was her complete and utter belief in justice—and her unwavering loyalty to him—Emrys—who had always been nothing more than a mere concept in her mind...until today.

Enya's was the color of pale yellow wildflowers—buttercups and daisies. The _aura _was fresh and light—joyful, bubbly, and inspirational. She loved life. She was a good judge of people, and when they passed her test, she loved them too. Whether she loved them or not, forgiveness was easy for her. Her optimism was stronger than steel and her will was much like her mother's. She had a soft spirit, though it could change to a fiery one immediately when the need arose, which reminded him painfully of Morgana. Merlin felt the budding power in the little girl, which had all the potential to turn her into a wonderful healer one day.

_Why me_? Merlin asked himself, not for the first time, completely in awe of the people before him. _I have nothing to them_.

"I want to," Merlin said, after a few seconds had passed of him observing them, "It is the very least I can do for you. I don't want you to be in pain because of…._me_."

The woman opened her mouth to protest, but obviously something in his face stopped her, and she nodded.

Merlin felt a small smile spread across his face, and he knelt in front of her, gingerly taking a hold of her hands and carefully avoiding the nasty, raw wounds that the coarse rope had cut into her wrists. She watched him with cautiously fascinated eyes.

"_Ahluttre pa seocnes. Purh-haele braed_," he muttered under his breath, feeling a pang in his heart as he remembered his father using the same spell to heal Arthur all those years ago.

He felt his magic flickering across eyes—turning them gold. The woman gasped quietly as his magic touched her, but he didn't allow that to distract him as he gently wormed his magic into her skin and allowed it to spread through her.

"What is your name?" he asked quietly, watching first the infection disappear from the wounds on her face and arms and then as new, flawless skin began to inch over them.

"Aislin," she answered, slightly breathless with awe.

"Another pretty name," Merlin commented vaguely. He almost told her his name, out of courtesy, but he stopped himself, knowing that he'd sound stupid.

Finally and reluctantly, Merlin removed his hand. Most of her wounds were gone, but there were the still the remains of a few itchy, bothersome scabs. "I—I'm sorry. I can't do more," he muttered shamefacedly. "I really wish I thought to bring my satchel…I had some herbs that would've helped."

"You have done more than enough, Emrys," Aislin breathed.

"Not nearly enough," Merlin disagreed under his breath.

Aislin either didn't hear or did not care to comment, but she searched his face with probing, observant eyes. "I have never felt magic like yours, Emrys. It is…different."

Merlin didn't know how to react to that, and she elaborated, "It is so boundless and deep. It is wild—as wild and powerful as Mother Earth's magic—but at the same time, it is tame, gentle, and sweet; it's selfless and warm."

"It feels like a hug," Enya interjected. "A hug you could get lost in because it's so big. A hug that makes you tingle all over."

Merlin felt his lips turn upward in a smile at her description, while Aislin looked at her daughter with a soft compassion and an intense love.

"Yes," she said hoarsely. "That is exactly what it feels like." Her eyes moved to Merlin once again. "I—I didn't think I was powerful enough. I didn't think it would work…I thought I was—I didn't think anyone would hear, and I didn't think _you_'d be the one to hear."

Merlin nodded and stated with a serious undertone in his voice, "You are far more powerful than you know."

He was speaking the truth. He did know of many Druids who could use mind-speak. Even though she was one of them and did not speak into his mind, he had _felt_ a wave of her desperation, her fear, and her pain. The strength of it had felt like a battering ram was crashing into his head. It was a miracle that he had been able to cover up as well as he did…though it did not escape his notice that Arthur had that suspicious glint in his eye the moment he had cut off what he was saying when he had felt it.

Arthur could sniff out a lie faster than a bloodhound could a piece of rare meat. It did not help matters that the Prince knew how horrible of a liar he was under sudden, unexpected pressure, and it would not surprise him if the Prince had indeed followed him.

Aislin's eyes filled with tears at the praise, and Merlin shuffled in embarrassment at how much the words had meant to her. "Tha—thank you, Emrys. Thank you for everything. Thank you for Enya. For…." Suddenly, she couldn't speak anymore, and she drew in a deep, uneven breath to steady herself.

"You should not be thanking me," Merlin said, avoiding those clear grey eyes. "You should have told him what he wanted to know. He—he wouldn't have hurt you. You and Enya could have…"

"Done what?" Aislin whispered. "Lived with shame for the rest of our lives? Emrys, you and the Prince are our hope and future, and I would rather die than live to see a world with you dead and your destiny destroyed. My life is worthless compared to yours."

Merlin swallowed heavily at these words and at the look in her determined, grey eyes. Her loyalty to him completely and utterly baffled him. Shaking his head and scrunching his brow, he said, "No, not to Enya. Not to your mother. Not to your friends and family. Not to your camp and kin. Not to me. No life is worthless." Merlin's eyes flickered to the dead man. "Not even his."

Aislin could hardly suppress a shudder, and she winced.

"Do—do you mind if I ask you…?" he began awkwardly, reluctant to force her and Enya to relive such cruel memories.

Aislin gave him a strange look, but when she realized why he asked, her pale face colored. "You are not what I expected, Emrys," she blurted.

Merlin was taken aback. "What?"

Her blush deepened. "I—I mean… I always knew that your destiny was worth fighting for, but I don't think I ever expected that _you_—simply as the person behind the name—would be too, but then again, I never expected to meet you. There is far more to you than meets the eye."

Touched, he said humbly, "…Thank you…but I don't think I deserve it."

To his surprise, it was Enya who responded to that. "You saved our lives. You risked your own to save strangers."

"And you have saved and will save many more," Aislin added. "Please, Emrys. I don't blame you for what happened...so you shouldn't be blaming yourself. What is done, is done. I was not the first nor will I be the last to fight for you and the Prince, and many will not be as lucky as I."

Merlin took a deep breath, and slowly, he felt the weight begin to lift off his chest as he realized the truth and wisdom in her words.

Her soft lips arched in a small smile, she continued, "Ask what you wish, Emrys. I will answer my best." She inclined her head. "Some of the information may be far more valuable to you than I."

Merlin began to pace. "What did he want from you?" he asked almost silently. "How did he catch you?"

Aislin fingered at Enya's curls for a moment in silence before answering. "We were out gathering herbs for my mother, who is our camp's healer. She has been getting horrible pains in her joints, and we help her with the task. I—I can't really remember what happened…it was three days ago." She put a palm to her forehead. "All of my memories are flashes and pieces that mix into one big mess that makes little to no sense… All that I know for certain is that when I awoke, I was in a cave with Enya, and _he_ was standing above me."

"_Bulin_," Enya whispered as though the name were a curse. Her mother flinched, her eyes scanning the child with concern. Merlin understood; Enya had seen far too much. "He took me away from Mother, locked me in a cage, and I was frightened. I didn't know what was happening."

"I didn't know if she was still alive," Aislin said quietly. "He just _took _her without a word. I already knew that I wasn't going to tell him a thing, but because I—I thought he had killed her—even though that was a horrifying reality, I still dared to hope that she might be alive…I resolved not to scream. It was only this morning when he lost patience with me and threatened to kill her that I knew she was still alive."

Merlin grimaced at the thought of her abuse, but he felt an indescribable satisfaction at her strength.

"You knew what he was, Emrys," the young woman said, a curious glint in her eye. "He was an auctioneer, and he became the leader of the slave-trader gang previously led by a man called Jarl. He thought that being a part of the slave-trading world would bring him more connections."

Merlin's nose wrinkled delicately. He remembered Jarl; he remembered him far too well. Also, the very thought of slave-trading made him want to hurl—he made a mental note to himself to ask Arthur to think over that matter when he was King…

_When had I started thinking like that? _Merlin wondered in a brief flash of surprise.

Aislin noticed his disdainful look, and she nodded approvingly. "He was also an ex-Druid of our very own camp. He—he—I remember him showing me how to make a flower bloom when I fell and scraped my elbow when I was a little girl. He wanted to cheer me up…" her voice trailed off wistfully, and she shook off the memories and continued, "Even though he left the camp at a young age, he remembered enough of our teachings to know you on sight….but the problem was he did not know _who_ you really were. The Druids know of your position in the royal household; we know that the Prince calls you by your birth name 'Merlin.' He did not, and that is what he wished to know."

Merlin winced, his apology written on his face, and his guilt was beginning to once again prowl more actively in his mind. "What did he say of the witches?"

Her eyes narrowed. "His infamy had spread, and the witch-sisters sought him out as an ally…or perhaps to hire him. As I gather it, he became a little overexcited and tried to take matters into his own hands. He acted against their wishes. He was overtly arrogant, and he certainly underestimated you because of it…He didn't believe anymore."

"That was his doom," Merlin agreed grimly. "Do—do _they_ know who I am?"

Aislin shook her head. "That is what they are searching for. They want you as well."

Despite himself, a smile broadened on his face. They'd never get to Emrys, not when they knew his other identity as 'Merlin.' They thought he was an idiot and a buffoon. After all, he was only the _servant_ to the Prince. They'd never connect the two names. The complete irony of it all made it impossible for them to see the truth…though Morgause had come remarkably close. The scar from the serket's attack tingled on his back as he thought about it.

Until that moment, he had not heard much but vague rumors on the whereabouts of Morgana and Morgause. This was the best, most useful, and most reliable information he had heard in some time. The best part was that their efforts were all in vain. They were completely wasting their time and effort, and that gave _him_ more time in return to prepare for whatever was headed their way.

He chuckled with slight amusement. "Well, they're going to have a hard time of it, aren't they? Even if either Morgana or Morgause finds out who I am, they'll certainly have trouble believing it. This—this is good news."

"I remember him laughing about the one called 'Morgause.'" Enya said suddenly.

Merlin's eyes flickered to her in eagerness; he knelt before her. "What did he say, Enya? Do you remember?"

"She is very weak. He didn't think that she should be giving him orders…but I think he feared the other…Morgana."

Aislin looked at her daughter with pride, and she kissed her on the top of the head.

He nodded and experienced mixed reactions—both grim glee at the thought of a weakened Morgause and concern at the thought of a frightening Morgana. There were trials ahead that were going to test them all to their very limits, Merlin knew.

He impulsively took one hand from each and squeezed; he had heard all that he wanted and more. "Thank you; I'm so sorry for what you have been through, and I'm glad I was near enough to help. I'm glad I wasn't too late."

"It was the least we could do," Aislin quoted ironically. "Thank _you_, Emrys, for our lives and for what is to come."

"I think that you don't have to wait for much longer," Merlin said without thinking.

Aislin gasped. "How can you be sure? We know that the King is ill, but..."

Merlin beamed. "Arthur finally knows who I am."

Aislin sat stunned for a moment, and she suddenly leapt to her feet, dragging Enya with her. Her eyes were radiant with joy, and a smile brighter than the sun broke out onto her face. "This—this is—" she ran her fingers through her hair. "He—he really…?"

Merlin stood as well and leaned close to her, a brilliant idea hatching in his mind. "Would you like to ask him yourself?" he whispered.

Not only was he going to have the last laugh, but he was also sure that this meeting—a meeting of the Druids and the Pendragon—would be extremely wise in light of Arthur's approaching kingship. If magic were to ever return, Arthur would need to trust not only him but the rest of the magic-users as well. He would need to understand first the benefits of having magic free in the land, and Merlin thought that this was a small step towards that goal.

He did not know what the Prince thought about Merlin's future—and by extension, _magic_'s future—but Merlin suspected that he was beginning to see. He remembered him earlier this morning—the look on his face as he began to clean his chambers…Arthur _knew_ that Merlin's place was not as a servant. But Merlin was just as confused as Arthur was about where he truly fit. He was an oddity; he was different… as a rule in Camelot's current society, he _didn't_ fit.

Merlin could not expect anything. He knew that he couldn't. How could Arthur just suddenly announce to the whole of Camelot that his faithful servant had magic? That—because he knew of his magic and was not doing anything about it (instead, _accepting _it)—he was practically allowing a sorcerer to walk free under Uther's nose? He couldn't. Camelot could not take that; he could not expect the change to happen in the snap of his fingers.

He would be patient, as he always tried to be, and he would take it step by step.

Aislin's grin faltered, and she looked nervous. "You—you mean…_meet_ the Prince?" she said under her breath.

Merlin observed her sadly, knowing that she would have little reason to trust the Prince. "I trust him with my life," he said quietly. "He will not harm you. I think you should meet him."

Aislin's eyes lost some of their fear, but a small glint of uncertainty lingered there. Enya's, on the other hand, shone with eagerness and curiosity.

"We—we couldn't possibly go to _Camelot_," Aislin pointed out.

"I didn't say that we'd have to," Merlin said, with his crinkly-eyed smile. "I was with him before you called for help. We have food—I'm sure that you haven't eaten properly in some time…and I have those herbs that will help you, and we can even escort you back to your camp, if you wish."

Aislin's reluctance faltered, and after a few long moments, she finally nodded.

Enya asked, "Is the Prince really near, Emrys?"

Merlin's grin became wider. "Oh, yes. We're going to surprise him," he said mischievously to Enya. "This'll teach him to follow me when I specifically tell him not to."

He turned towards the trees, where he had heard that suspicious squirrel, and extended his voice with a small smile on his face, "I think it's safe for you to come out now, Arthur. Would you like to meet Aislin and Enya?"

~…~

It had hit Arthur abruptly and incredibly hard as he watched Merlin converse humbly and efficiently with the two Druids, as he watched Merlin's compassion and personable, sunny, open character, and as he saw the looks of awe, respect, gratitude, and utter loyalty on the faces of the two female Druids.

Merlin talked with them so easily, so effortlessly. He had gleaned more information in those few minutes than any one of his soldiers or Knights had in the months that had passed since Morgana had betrayed them. Arthur caught that oxymoronic goofy wisdom shining through his multidimensional eyes.

He was so diplomatic and decisive when speaking and dealing with the auctioneer. He knew exactly what to do and how to bring about the best solution, and he knew what needed to be done, even if it brought about such a great personal sacrifice to him. He knew how to speak and act around the Druids, and they believed in him. They weren't afraid to speak to him.

His father had never been more wrong. Magic was as much a part of this world as air. To cut themselves from it, to pretend it was against nature and unchangeably evil, had been a grave mistake.

_We need magic for peace_, Arthur realized with a shock. The kingdom was divided. There was fear and mistrust, and that was because his father did not understand. To fight those evil enough to wield magic for the wrong reasons, he would need magic to prevail. To prevent any more from falling to revenge, the persecution of magic would need to end. For Merlin to finally be free, to unlock that last chain that bound him, magic would need to be free.

How many of those evil sorcerers had attacked because of their pain and their anger towards Uther's decisions concerning magic? Even Morgana… But no, that was not her only motive. She _was _an heir to the throne, after all. Of course, there was no going back now. She would still seek it for herself, even if magic was free….

_If magic was free_….Arthur was shocked at how enjoyable the thought sounded in his mind. He shook the thought from his head. That would shake Camelot; the suspicions would increase and turmoil may break out…It was impossible.

He looked over to Merlin, who was now sharing what seemed to be a silent joke with the young, blonde girl. _It isn't impossible, _he thought with newfound hope. With Merlin at his side, with Merlin as an advisor on magic, he knew that it was very possible…

_An advisor_…Arthur's mind reeled at the sudden conviction. He had to suppress a chuckle. _Who would've thought…?_

Suddenly, he heard Merlin call out, with a tone both playful and serious, "I think it's safe for you to come out now, Arthur. Would you like to meet Aislin and Enya?"

Arthur froze like a child caught playing with Daddy's forbidden sword, heart stopping for a moment, and he swore under his breath.

Beside him Gwen giggled. "How does he do it?" she asked.

Arthur just shook his head mutely.

"Ooooh!" he heard Gwaine whisper childishly from somewhere behind him. "You're in trouble now."

Arthur sent a glare in his direction. If he was going down, _they _were going with him.

Merlin's eyes were dancing, despite the pain Arthur knew still hid there—just out of sight. He grumbled under his breath. It was no use hiding; in fact, there had probably been no point in hiding in the first place. No matter how idiotic the young man was, Arthur knew that he was too observant and clear-headed to be fooled.

_He knows me too well_, Arthur thought.

In truth, he was nervous. He saw the hesitant curiosity in the Druids' grey eyes and the fretfulness in their movements. He didn't know how this would play out…the Druids had every reason to hate him.

And then there was Merlin, waiting patiently, expectantly…and hidden in the depths of his eyes, past the amusement, churned an even deeper motive for calling him to meet the two Druids. He would not call him out—not even to tease him as unmercifully as he was going to already—unless he did had a good reason to.

With a sigh, he stepped out of cover. "How did you know, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned lopsidedly and deviously, a bit of his goofy, sunny nature returning to his somber face. "I didn't know for sure…until now."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and Merlin continued, "I wouldn't expect anything less anyway…How much—how much did you see?"

"Everything, Merlin," Gwen said, stepping lightly to Arthur's side. She looked over at the two Druids and greeted, with her head slightly bowed, "Hello." Arthur saw the tension in Aislin's shoulders slacken, and she smiled warily at Gwen.

"You brought Gwen along, Arthur?" Merlin asked in horror. "Have you completely lost your mind? First you obviously feel no caution whatsoever for the danger you might be walking into and you come charging after me without armor, which was reckless and stupid, might I add..."

"Oh?" Arthur asked sarcastically. "And it's alright for _you _to go dashing off into potentially dangerous situations without armor?"

Merlin pursed his lips. "That's different," he said lamely.

Arthur smirked smugly. "That's what I thought."

"I know you're not one for sitting on edge of the training field, Gwen, but really, Arthur? That doesn't excuse you for _allowing_ Gwen to come with you," he scolded. "You put both her and yourself in danger, prat."

This time, Arthur had to admit that he felt ashamed and suitably chastised, and he didn't have a retort.

Of course, that is when the rest of the Knights decided to tumble from the trees.

Merlin blinked in incredulity, and with a new amusement in his eye, he threw up his hands. "And it just gets better!" he exclaimed sarcastically. He threw an apologetic and reassuring glance to Aislin, who was staring wide-eyed at the Knights. Enya clutched at her mother's leg, peeping around from behind curiously. Merlin's head cocked towards her, and her eyes flew to him. Arthur suspected a magical, nonverbal communication between them as she gave him a little nod.

"You surely can't expect to sneak off unobtrusively and be the unspoken hero anymore, can you?" Percival asked with a laugh.

"We know you too well, Merlin. We're in this together now," Lancelot said.

Merlin pursed his lips, and from the sheepish look on his face, Arthur saw that is _exactly_ what he thought. He wasn't sure how to handle this change.

"We'll talk about this later," Merlin finally decided, giving Arthur a meaningful look.

"I thought I was the one who decided when we talked?" Arthur asked.

"Not today," Merlin answered without a thought, smiling at the memory. "Or any day. I think those days are far behind us, my friend. They have been for a long time."

"That's only because you never learned that there's a proper time to shut up," Arthur teased.

"No, that's not it. I just found my voice," Merlin disagreed wisely.

Gwen cleared her throat, and Arthur realized that Merlin had nearly dragged him into a verbal war, which the Prince knew could take ages to resolve. He and Merlin glanced sheepishly at Gwen.

Arthur saw that Aislin was observing them all carefully, and slowly, as anyone who witnessed the banter and obvious friendship between the two young men did, she began to smile. It was not only a smile of amusement; it was one of radiant joy.

Merlin, too, noticed this, and he hid a smile, and Arthur suspected that he had riled him up to lighten the atmosphere…in fact, seeing that she was no longer afraid, he too felt less nervous. He gave Merlin a grateful glance, and he raised his eyebrow in response.

"Forgive me," he said courteously to the Druids. "Merlin spreads disrespect and rudeness like a contagion. I almost caught it." He smiled, showing that he meant nothing by the insult, and Merlin scowled, eyes giving away his amusement.

"Aislin, Enya, these are my Knights…" At that prompting, they each stepped forward and offered their hand to her and then to Enya, introducing themselves.

Gwaine, the last Knight, actually kissed Aislin's hand, and before Arthur could even roll his eyes, Merlin said in a mock-whisper, "I'd stay away from that one; he's a ruffian and a drunk."

Gwaine swatted half-heartedly at Merlin, who used magic to cause the wind to blow his hair into his face so that he stumbled and missed. "Merlin, mate," Gwaine groaned, brushing the hair from his face. "How am I ever going to get a lady to agree to join me at any one of those feasts with you around?"

The Knights guffawed, and Aislin let out a peal of musical laughter. Gwaine kissed Enya's hand as well before allowing Gwen to take his place.

"Guinevere," she said, curtsying. "It's a pleasure to meet you both, and you have no idea how terribly sorry I am for what has happened to you."

Aislin smiled, and she said slowly, "I see that you understand. You have been in my shoes, and I have heard that you have also been in a servant's shoes. That is no longer the case, is it? I see how he looks at you." Arthur glared at the Knights', who began to snigger at him. "You'll make a great Queen, my Lady."

Gwen blinked in astonishment, and she said, "Thank you."

Finally, it was Arthur's turn. He felt nervous for reasons he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was Merlin's watchful gaze, perhaps it was Aislin and Enya's now _very_ curious and hopeful eyes… He understood now Merlin's motives for calling him out. This was an important step.

He took a deep, silent breath. "I'm Arthur Pendragon," he said, offering his hand.

Aislin cocked her head, smiling, and took it with both of her hands. "I would know you anywhere, Sire. You are a better man than your father, and I know that you and Emrys will go far indeed." She bowed her head to him in loyalty.

"Thank you, Prince," Enya added, saving him the embarrassment of responding to her mother's statement.

"Whatever for?" Arthur asked kindly.

"For seeing magic as good. You and Emrys will make it safe for kids like me. Other kids, ones that don't know about magic now—they _will _know. They won't be scared of me; they won't care. I won't have to hide from them or be scared of what they might do or say to me. They will be my friends, and they won't hate us anymore. Mummy says I'm special—that all magic people are special…but I don't feel anything but sad as I see them turn us away with hate in their eyes. I don't want to be hated."

Arthur's eyes flickered to Merlin, who was watching Enya with a sad expression, eyes glazed by lonely memories.

He never realized just how hard it was for Merlin growing up. He must've been horribly lonely...and scared, just as Enya. But Enya had the Druids; she was not completely alone. Who did Merlin have as a child? He was alone with his magic. Even his mother, Hunith, could not fully understand. Not even Gaius. He couldn't imagine…For the first time in a long while, he thought of Merlin's friend Will, and he felt a new surge of gratitude for the deceased man. He wouldn't have understood completely either, but at least there was something genuine in their friendship.

"You sound like someone I know well," Arthur said, watching Merlin raise his head from his peripheral vision. He put his hand on her shoulder. "You _are_ special, Enya," he whispered, tweaking her nose lightly. "Don't _ever_ forget that. Magic is a gift, and I will see to it that others know it as well as I do."

Arthur saw the pride shine through Merlin's moist, glistening eyes.

* * *

><p>AN: This took me forever to write, and I admit, I had a bit of writer's block when I was writing it. Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long, seeing as I know exactly where I want to go with it (this one just came out very choppily), but with swim practices starting a ghastly 5:30am next week, I can't promise that. :P<p> 


	4. Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: :D Episode 2 just as wonderful as the last...

***SPOILER ALERT*** I guess this makes my fic AU now that Lancelot's gone :( ... On the brighter side: Omigawsh, Dragoon's in the next episode! You all know how much I _**love**_ Dragoon; you wouldn't BELIEVE how insanely I was laughing at that one tiny clip in the preview. I can't help but giggling my head off just _thinking_ about Arthur and Dragoon working together. Honestly, those daydreams are going to pull me through next week. I think I have a bit of an obsession with that crazy old man... he's just delightful, isn't he? :P A heartfelt thanks to Colin Morgan for being so dang brilliant and incredibly hilarious. ***END SPOILER ALERT***

And here we go:

* * *

><p><strong>Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful<strong>

Laughter sang through the clearing—light as a feather, musical as a bubbling stream, as beautiful as a newborn foal.

It was change.

It would have been painfully awkward had it not been for Merlin. He chattered nonstop, and he ultimately led the conversation, making sure that each person had something to say and a chance to say it. Merlin's impish smile lit up his whole face, and it never faded from his cerulean eyes, not even when a scowl replaced his grin as the Knights teased. Everyone present felt the warmth of Merlin's natural cheerfulness, and soon enough, it alone vanquished any remaining qualms. He even managed to erase any sense of the social and political barriers—memories of the Purge and the inevitable uncertainty on the Druids' part towards Arthur—that divided them by using and talking about his magic so openly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Eventually, Aislin was not concerned with hiding hers.

It was a fascinating experience. Arthur found himself enjoying hearing Aislin talk of her camp and of their simple way of life, and she, in turn, listened in rapture to Arthur and the Knights as they talked of Camelot and of themselves. She had a wonderfully dry sense of humor and a really brilliant way of viewing the world. Enya, too, was delightful to talk to. She was intensely curious, and Arthur admired her enthusiasm, her energy, and her spirit.

He couldn't stop himself from smiling—smiling as Gwen and Aislin giggled together, as Percival learned that Aislin had heard of his people and had relatives in the very same Druid camp that had been such a big part of his life, as Gwaine and Leon made Enya laugh and clap joyously, and especially as he and Merlin locked their blue eyes, sharing meaningful and indescribably loaded looks—looks that spoke volumes more than words could.

Once Lancelot and Elyan, who both had offered to go back to the lake, had returned with the remainder of the food and Merlin's bag of herbs, Aislin and Enya ate ravenously, and they questioned, told, and listened all the while.

When Merlin took Aislin aside to treat her wounds again and once they began talking about medicine, herbs, and healing, using words so large and complex that they should not have even been classified as part of the English language, Arthur and the Knights could hardly follow their conversation. Instead, they did what they were known for—being their _unique _(Arthur rolled his eyes at the thought) selves.

Arthur watched with an exasperated amusement as Gwaine tackled Elyan for a rude—though completely witty and true—comment and as they threw themselves haphazardly onto the ground, wrestling like pups of the same liter. Leon, Lancelot, and Percival, snickering and yelling, had to jump out of their way to avoid being trampled. Gwen immediately pursed her lips and went over, trying and miserably failing to make them act their own age. (1)

Arthur chuckled fondly and said with an incredulous interest to Enya, who had gotten bored—as do all children—with the young adults' conversation a little while ago and who was sitting was a few meters away from him, "They really act more like animals than normal human beings, don't they?"

She didn't make a sound, and Arthur turned to look at her. Enya was staring at her palm with a look of intense concentration—so intense that Arthur suspected that she was hardly registering the things around her. He felt he could almost sense the amount of energy she was attempting to summon. Smiling, interested to see what she would do, he waited silently.

Finally, she whispered, "_Forbearne."_

Instead of becoming inflamed as he expected, Arthur saw her eyes merely flicker weakly with gold. The air over her palm seemed to shimmer with slight heat, but in the blink of an eye, any sign of the magic was gone, leaving Enya with a horribly crestfallen face, small tears of frustration building up in her eyes.

Arthur felt a slight jolt of his heart, and his memory reached back—back to the days when he first began learning the art of the sword. He remembered that stubborn frustration, that sadness when he failed…his father's disappointed eyes...his instructor's forced patience…the tears thickening in his throat. He had hated failure; he still did. And that is why he pushed so hard—pushed through the blood, sweat, and tears—so he could say that he succeeded in overcoming each challenge, so that he could prove to himself and everyone around him that he would not give in to failure. He _would_ succeed, and he would _never_ quit. Everyday, he woke to train. At the end of each day, he fell into bed with a groan, sore muscles screaming in protest, only to awake far too early to repeat the same brutal cycle. Once, he was just a novice, struggling to keep his arm from trembling as he swung and lunged with the heavy, wooden practice weapon. Now look at him—he was one of the best swordsmen in Camelot.

"Practice makes perfect, Enya," Arthur said.

The girl gasped and stiffened, her light grey eyes flying up to meet Arthur's. Biting her lip and clenching at her ruined clothes, she suddenly forced her eyes down and away.

He frowned, puzzled and worried. What was it that he had done? Why was she acting this—? Arthur cringed at the instinctual fear and horror he had seen briefly in her wide eyes before she hid them from him, and a flash of anger rippled through his body. It wasn't what _he _had done; it was what Uther had done.

He had stolen their identity, forcing them to live as shells…hardly allowing them to reach ever higher. He crushed their dreams, their hopes, their futures. He had ripped the pride of being who they were away from them. He made them afraid to be magic.

_And magic is such an incredible gift!_ Arthur thought. It was beautiful and remarkable, different and useful. It was glorious and fascinating… and it helped weave and hold the very fabric of the world together…

It hurt to know that the reason that she—and all the rest, even Merlin—hid was because of his father. They hid because of the lies that his father fed Camelot, because of the discrimination that his father had begun, because of the hatred they all knew Camelot felt towards them. Because of his father, Arthur, too, was feared….perhaps even more than the rest.

He was sick of fear.

He didn't want this. He didn't want to see Enya cowering away from him, her whole body tense with anxiety and anticipation for what he might do, for what he might say. He didn't want the Druids to run anymore. He didn't want Aislin to fear for her daughter's life. He didn't want Merlin to think he was nothing more than a servant hiding in the shadows. He didn't want any more children to grow up alone and lost. On the flip side, he didn't want the disease of ignorance to spread any further among the people of the non-magical community. He didn't want Camelot to hate their brothers and sisters. He didn't want to see any more inhumane punishments distributed to such incredible human beings. He didn't want mistrust running rampant.

Again, the strong conviction hit him: he _would _rectify the sins and the mistakes of his father. None of them deserved anything less.

"Go on! Try again, Enya," Arthur said, forcing away his darker thoughts and smiling lightheartedly. "You gain strength each and every time you try, and the more you try, the quicker you are to overcoming the challenge and the stronger you are when you have to face the next one."

Enya's eyes flickered to something behind him, and he turned to see Merlin and Aislin watching the interaction with a mixture of surprise, seriousness, and pride. Merlin had that wise glint in his eye, and he was watching Enya curiously, a thoughtful crease in between his eyebrows.

"It's alright, Enya," Aislin said. "You have nothing to fear from Prince Arthur. He, Emrys, and I want to see you try. You were so close."

"You can't expect to get a spell right on the first try," Merlin added with his goofy smile, shooting Arthur a sly look. "I couldn't even begin to count how many _long_ nights I spent trying to get one spell to work."

"Even you, Emrys?" Enya asked with surprise, obviously thinking that the mighty Emrys was just pulling her leg.

Merlin chuckled. "_Especially_ me….though, not so much anymore. As Arthur quite wisely said, 'Practice makes perfect.'"

Enya smiled fleetingly, and she uncurled her delicate fingers, bringing her palm up once again. Seeing that now all present were watching her expectantly, she shifted uncomfortably and then focused on her hand for a moment before saying the spell again, more forcibly than before.

Aislin smiled as the gold filled her daughter's irises, glowing brighter than they had earlier. Arthur thought he saw more than simple heat waves rise from the girl's palm, but after a short moment, Enya exhaled heavily and released the magic. Her hand fell dejectedly to the side, and she hid her eyes as she sighed, drawing her knees to her chest.

Her mother was at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her close. Enya looked up at her, cheeks burning with embarrassment at having failed the spell in front of her audience, and snuggled closer. "It's hard," she murmured. Her eyes were sorrowful, but Arthur was shocked to see that they were dry.

Aislin nodded sympathetically. "It's never easy, dear. You shouldn't beat yourself up about this. Your magic only began to show a month ago, and it is still developing. It'll take some time before you can command higher magic."

Enya nodded resignedly. It was the nod of a child trying to understand why patience was necessary….and it was the nod of a child who had heard this once too many times.

"Do you know—" Merlin suddenly said quietly, crouching before Enya "—why we can summon fire, essentially _create_ it…but cannot do the same with the other elements?"

Enya looked confused and shook her head, and every pair of eyes was now trained curiously on Merlin. Even the Knights stopped their rough-housing to listen.

"We can make water come to us," Merlin said, demonstrating by waving his hand. Water from the nearest water-skin, the one Leon was beginning to take a sip from, rushed out of the skin in a thin stream to Merlin, and it compiled into a ball, floating and rotating over the palm of his hand.

"Merlin!" Leon groaned indignantly, shaking the now dry and empty skin.

Merlin sent a wide smile in his direction before continuing, "We can manipulate it, make it change forms…" With a flash of gold, the ball of water solidified into ice. He weighed it in his hand, and then he blew lightly on it, and slowly, the ball of ice began to disintegrate. Little snowflakes began to dance around Enya, glittering in the sunlight before melting away on the breeze or collecting in Enya's hair or her hand, which she was reaching out joyfully in an attempt to catch some. "…but we cannot _create_ water ourselves. I tried once to turn a bucket of sand into water during the famine of Camelot years ago. Needless to say, I failed. It isn't possible. We must take it from another source—a natural source, a water source."

He pressed his hands to the earth. "We can control the earth. We can dig through it with magic, sift through its secrets, cause it to split and move…" He lifted his hands, and Arthur watched with hardly concealed amazement as a small green bud poked its head from the soil, reaching towards the sky and unfolding bright pink petals. Smiling lightly, he plucked it and handed it to Enya, who delightfully fingered at the soft, waxy petals and gently inhaled its fragrance. "…and we can make things grow. But, again, we cannot physically bring earth into the world. It is already here, and it cannot be recreated.

"And neither can air. We can make air move. We can calm it and rile it; some can even make wind storms so powerful that they toss men around as if they were nothing more than sheet of parchment." Merlin's eyes once again became golden and a strong wind, stronger than the breeze that had accompanied them all day, whisked through the clearing, pushing against them eagerly, before subsiding as Merlin waved his hand.

"But _fire_," Merlin said. A small flame sparked into being on his hand. "Fire is different. Men and beasts walk the earth; fish swim the seas; birds command the sky… No mortal creature _exists _solely in fire. Fire, despite being one of the four natural elements, is not as natural as the others. It is something of its own, and it, in a way, stands alone from the others…and with them at the same time."

The fire died on his palm, and he gestured to the circle of Camelot's Knights. "One reason we can create fire is because _they _can. Without using any magic at all, Arthur could strike a campfire nearly as easily as I could with magic. Humans are _meant_ to make fire. Even though we do not need it to physically breathe and live, we do need it for survival…My magic and Arthur's flint are only different means to the same end."

Eyes shining, Merlin took Enya's hand and turned the palm up. "What do you think of when incanting the spell?"

Enya blinked hard, as though she had just wakened from sleep…or most likely, from the spell of incredulity and awe. Arthur could understand. He too had been completely captivated by Merlin's lesson, and from the looks of the rest of the Knights, Gwen, and Aislin, they had as well.

"Erm—" Enya muttered.

"Do you think of the color? The image?" Merlin prompted gently.

Enya nodded, smiling as he guessed correctly.

Merlin returned her smile. "This is the problem. Fire is more than color. Tell me, Enya, what else is fire?"

After a moment of thinking, Enya said, "…warmth. It is warm, and it cooks food—which makes you warm too. The people that surround it make you feel warm inside."

Merlin smiled. "And?"

"It—it smells nice. It sounds like music when it pops and crackles, and it helps me sleep. It reminds me of home."

"Good, Enya," Merlin praised. "But you must remember also that it is destruction, and that it can be very dangerous. Sometimes, you cannot trust fire; it can be deceptive. It can burn homes to the ground, uncontrollable and untamable. People could get hurt; people can die. Like magic, like a sword, like a person, there is both a potential for good and evil in fire. It will be hard to control if you think that is only good."

Merlin's eyes danced about her face. "Try again, Enya. This time, do not only think of its shape and its color and its light as it dances among the glowing embers and as it flickers in the night. Think of how it can warm and how it can burn as well. Think of everything that fire is, and it will be." He sat back with a smile, signifying that he was done speaking.

Enya stared at Merlin, and then flicked around the group. The soft grey eyes closed, and taking a deep breath, she prepared herself. The watchers waited, hardly daring to breathe. Time seemed to hang by a thread, and everything slowed, the moment seeming to be frozen forever.

"_Forbearne_," she said, eyes flashing open, now consumed with gold….

And a small flame, no bigger than an acorn, flared to life. It throbbed and pulsed gently in her hand, wavering in the slight breeze, but it did not falter.

Enya stared at the little fire in absolute amazement, and then a wide, an ecstatic grin blossomed across her face. "I—I did it," she breathed.

There was pandemonium as the Knights began to clap and call out their congratulations and praises. Aislin laughed and hugged her, whispering privately into her ear.

Merlin did not speak, but Arthur could see his joy and approval in his stormy blue eyes. When Enya looked to him, his small smile broadened radiantly, and he nodded. Enya looked even more overjoyed at the slight nod from Merlin.

_He really is something, _Arthur thought, shaking his head at Merlin. _Will there ever be a day when he _doesn't _surprise me? _To his shock, he found himself hoping that that day would never come.

Arthur wanted more than anything to talk to Merlin about what he had said, to talk to Merlin alone about it all, but that wasn't possible…not at this moment.

"I knew you could do it, Enya," Merlin and Arthur said simultaneously. They threw each other strange looks—the looks only they reserved for each other.

Enya beamed. "Thank you, Emrys."

Merlin blushed. "It was nothing. I'm glad it helped."

"That was far more than _nothing_, Merlin," Elyan said.

"It was definitely something," Gwen agreed.

Arthur and the rest nodded, giving Merlin looks of appreciation and smiles.

"You were never formally taught, Emrys?"

Merlin shook his head modestly at Aislin. "No," he muttered. "I'm self-taught."

"That's not completely true," Lancelot pointed out. "The Dragon has helped you in the past, and Gaius…"

"_Mostly_ self-taught then," Merlin specified with a grin.

Aislin blinked in surprise, studying Merlin. "That—that is incredible," she finally said weakly. "You are a remarkable person, Emrys."

"Powerfully modest, modestly powerful," Arthur said under his breath.

Aislin looked at the Prince, her eyes shining. "Exactly."

~…~

Arthur looked to the sky, sighing again. He had taken up Merlin's offer to escort both Aislin and Enya back to their camp. He felt honor bound—they were two women traveling alone, and more importantly, they were his friends. He desperately wanted to continue making contact with the Druids, and he wanted to speak to the magical community. There were many reasons why he couldn't—he knew—but that didn't mean he had to like them.

Merlin, first of all, was cautious. Brilliant and logical, but extremely cautious. "One step at a time, Arthur," he whispered into his ear. Arthur saw the wisdom in this statement, and Merlin smiled patiently at the look on his face. "There will be a next time."

"You really don't think it's a good idea?" Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head. "Not yet. But it will be, in time. Their word will be enough for now."

Merlin swayed the stubborn Prince. The young warlock knew what he was talking about, and Arthur knew that they both wanted to make sure that they didn't take things too quickly and ruin what that they had begun. Merlin was right. They had quite a bit of time ahead of them, and they weren't wasting it by waiting.

Gwen and Aislin too offered the Prince more immediate reasons. "It is nearly an hour until dusk, Arthur," Gwen pointed out.

Aislin nodded. "Our camp is not terribly far from here, but it is far enough that you would not reach Camelot until too late to visit with your father." At Arthur's surprised glance, she smiled. "I know how much he means to you, and you cannot know how long you have to spend with him."

Arthur flinched. He knew that his father was unwell—to the point of no return. However, he was still in denial. He would not admit to himself that his father was, in reality, dying. He knew that putting off that realization for longer would only turn to stab him deeper, but he was still holding on to his last shred of hope.

Gwen put his hand over his. "Aislin is right. You should spend time with him," she said sadly. "He hasn't seen you since you left to fight the Gvarath. Not only do you _need_ him, but he needs you."

Merlin nodded to these statements, watching the Prince with sorrowful eyes—as if he himself were taking a part of the Prince's pain.

"I feel as though I'd be abandoning you," Arthur admitted.

Aislin shook her head. "By simply accepting magic, Prince Arthur…no, you are not abandoning us. And you never will. I will spread word—the Druids will stand with you."

It was a hopeful farewell, full of promises that this would not be the last time that they saw each other. With some hugs, some more 'thank-you's, some supplies, and a protection charm from a thoughtful Merlin having been given, the Druids and the Camelotians went their separate ways, and perhaps the most striking thing happened. They _all_ turned back to look at the opposite party, smiles on their faces and hands thrown up into the air in a last wave.

"Merlin, could we go on a picnic every weekend with you?" Gwaine asked jokingly as they turned away.

Elyan jested in mock surprise, "That was a picnic?"

"Just stick with me and Arthur, Gwaine," Merlin said, looking back at him, with a smile. "You'll never get bored. I'm sure your thirst for magical adventure will be sated without having to wait through each week for a picnic."

"Yeah. That'll probably happen as soon as his thirst for ale is sated," Leon quipped. Percival guffawed.

Arthur, sensibly not wanting to be a part of whatever was going to follow, nudged his horse up to ride alongside Merlin's.

"You know," Arthur began, "I don't think I ever thanked you for today. Thank you."

"You did earlier," Merlin said. "Just not aloud."

Arthur's eyes slid to his younger companion. "You did well back there," he said slowly. Merlin didn't respond. "They really trust you…and because of you, they trust me too."

"Is that another thank you?" Merlin teased.

Arthur shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Well, then perhaps I should say one of my own."

Arthur blinked. "Why are you thanking _me_?"

Merlin smiled. "For everything that you said today."

"I meant it. Every word."

"I know you did. That's why I was thanking you, you clotpole," Merlin said exasperatedly.

Arthur swallowed. It was the perfect time to say it, the perfect opportunity to tell Merlin what he thought and what he wanted for their future….but he couldn't. No, not yet. There were some things that still needed to change, things that still needed to be fully realized. They were small, subtle things, but they needed to be changed and realized nevertheless.

He wouldn't have realized the irony: Merlin had thought something quite similar hours beforehand…when Arthur was still unaware of the young man's true identity.

Yes, Destiny was playing her cards again.

Instead, he saw that Merlin had opened up another opportunity. He scowled at his friend, though he knew that the young raven-haired sorcerer could see right through it as he smugly beamed at him…challenging him to retort…

"We'll see who the _clotpole_ is after this!"

Ignoring the cries from the Knights and the "Not again!" from Gwen, Arthur spurred his horse, and almost immediately, he heard Merlin's horse's hooves on his tail, the young man cursing and shooting colorful and fond insults loudly behind him.

~…~

The people thought that Uther Pendragon was mentally broken, that he was lost and weak. They thought that his mind had gone and that it would never return.

Those religious folk might have seen something different in Uther's pale green eyes. They might have seen a man meditating and searching…searching for something so deep within that it only appeared that he was broken.

The religious folk were more correct than the people—for Uther Pendragon was not completely floundering and drowning in a vast pit of darkness…betrayal, misery, and pain. The world thought he was blind to them, but in truth, he saw _everything_.

He was searching, watching, waiting for something. He was trying to find some missing key, some missing link. He was so deeply searching that it did appear as though he was lost within himself.

He knew that he was dying—there was not much for him to live for. Sometimes, when Arthur appeared, Uther felt a flash of warmth. He saw his son _living_, smiling, breathing. He saw him kissing Gwen, who loved him just as unconditionally as her loved her, and he saw him laughing with Merlin, the serving boy who Uther knew was Arthur's most loyal and trusted friend. He saw his son's tears and heard his words…through glazed eyes.

Some part of Uther wanted to be part of that once again, to feel the love and warmth of his friends and family around him, but the more he searched, the more he knew and accepted that his time had been spent.

He knew that there were things he needed to finish; his work, his purpose for life was not yet fulfilled, so he searched. He realized his mistakes—his horrid, most horrible mistakes—and his soul was wild and frenzied, and to obtain the peace he wanted, to be with Igraine once again… he needed to search. Through his memories, through his experience, through others' memories and experiences….he searched. He needed to find a way to calm the storm within himself and to find the peace he so craved. The final peace. The final end.

He didn't want to die with his soul in chaos. He had always been a man who wanted order—and he would do what it took to get it.

He had never been as close as he had been when Arthur came to see him, just mere days ago. He had replayed his son's words multiple times. "_Father…_" Arthur had put his head in his hands. "_You probably think I'm foolish for not deciding to send others out in my stead…there's a reason. I can't—I can't pretend to be what you have been, Father. I can't do what you do. My flesh and blood may've been born to be King, but my spirit wasn't. I can't sit here any longer. I need to be out there. I need to ride, and I need to fight. I need to be free to be my own man. I need to make myself a King out of what I am and not what you are._" Arthur had choked here, and Uther wished that he could reach out and comfort his son. "_I hope you approve. I hope you understand."_

The King, who refused to show any outward, personal, emotion, had allowed himself to cry. He did not remember the last time he had cried. Tears had slid down his cheek uninhibited, and he had smiled—for the first time since Morgana had fled.

And then, there was something else—something that struck Uther similarly and differently at the same time.

"_Merlin and I both feel the storm clouds gathering,"_ Arthur had said.

A new dawn was on the horizon. Uther was not part of that new dawn, but Arthur and Merlin were.

Uther had not slept; he had not eaten since that time. And now with a strange feeling of delight, he felt his search coming to an end—he would have his peace.

Suddenly, he was shaken slightly out of his mediation by loud hoof beats over cobblestone. Awakening even more from his self-induced search, the King leaned slightly over in his stiff wooden chair to peer out of the window.

Two horsemen were racing into the courtyard. Uther heard a laugh, and he registered that it was his son. Arthur swung down from his horse, joking with the second horseman—Gaius' boy—he recognized. Even from above, he could sense that bond—that brotherly affection that he had only just discovered through his search…

And suddenly, with that image of Arthur—Arthur pulling his arm around the lanky, tousle-haired young man, Arthur smiling broader than he had seen in quite a long time—the last piece of the puzzle clicked.

King Uther Pendragon was awake, and he was going to right his wrongs before his death. There were things he _needed_ to say, things he needed to confess and proclaim and share… before he was gone.

"Guards," he called softly, his voice hoarse and weak.

After a moment, a Camelot guard opened the chamber door, a look of incredulity on his face. "M—my Lord?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Send for Gaius, please," Uther said.

The guard blinked, and if it was even possible, the eyes opened wider… perhaps it was in shock that the King was verbalizing or perhaps it was because Uther had said, "please."

It didn't matter to Uther. The guard was on his way to Gaius, and if he knew anything, the rest of those whom he wished to speak to would follow—his son, his caretaker, and yes, even that seemingly idiotic manservant.

Uther smiled peacefully. It was time.

* * *

><p>AN: (1) There is actually the most adorable pic out there of them wrestling between scenes in their armor and scarlet cloaks. Colin did not participate, unfortunately, but he's certainly grinning his head off. ;) Very precious moment.<p>

Sorry if none of you agree about how I had Merlin teach Enya, but that is how I view magic. I had fun thinking of it (I spent a lot of swim practice thinking about that part :P) but strangely enough, I had the most fun writing from Uther's POV. Yes, he is a bit OOC, but seeing as no one can really understand what the man is going through, I believe we can use our imaginations a bit and make him as OOC in his condition as we want. :)

Now, I'm off to rewatch 4x2... :D And laugh again at that preview for next week...


	5. Last Deed

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Agh. I'm sorry! I wanted this whole fic to be done by the time "Wicked Day" premiered. Gosh, am I off. I still have 1-2 chapters left in me. I wanted this chapter out particularly because I knew from spoilers that Uther was going to die. Fun fact: I wanted to have an epilogue in A Soul, A Mentality, A Name with Uther's death, but I centered that idea in this fic instead :P Funny how things work out.

Also, thank you so much for alerting, reviewing, favorite-ing... It's incredible how popular SMN is still in comparison to this fic and my one-shot. Your support is absolutely wonderful, and it means the world. :D

No, I haven't seen the episode yet, but I'm looking forward to some Dragoon action. Though I know Uther dies there, I hope that my death scene fits nicely with my now AU story. :) Hope you like.

* * *

><p><strong>Last Deed<strong>

Arthur didn't realize that the Knights and Gwen had finally made it into the courtyard until he heard a rough cough that pervaded his and Merlin's hysterical laughter. He looked up, distracted, and Merlin wiggled out of his headlock easily, saying sarcastically, much to the Knights' amusement and Arthur's chagrin, "Oh, yes. That's _exactly_ how a prince should behave!"

"And that's how _you_ should behave around your Prince?" Arthur retorted.

Merlin scoffed. "You know better than that! I'm not a normal servant, but I'm a _servant_ nevertheless," Merlin placed extra emphasis on the word. Arthur's face hardened subtly. "I hardly need to worry about public opinion." He nodded to the nearby stable and serving boys, whose eyes were locked on the interaction and who were whispering amongst themselves and struggling to hold professional faces.

Normally, Arthur would have been embarrassed and would have glared at the young boys to force them into a quiet and frightened subservience, but he realized with a shock that he didn't care…not in the slightest. _Why should I anyway? _He wondered briefly. He was being himself—the real self that he had hidden away for so many years behind a wall of arrogance and ignorance.

He did not realize that his antics and relationships with Merlin, the Knights, and Gwen had the people warming up to their young Prince in ways that they could have hardly expected. They saw someone who was not only a good defender and logical thinker, as all good princes should be, but also someone who was a good judge of character, who looked past titles and status…He was more than just their future ruler, he was their friend; he was not some high, mighty, untouchable and powerful figure-head. He was, in a way, one of them.

The laughing young Knights raised quizzical eyebrows at the pair as they dismounted, complaining about missing their latest battle of wits. They did not understand the reasons for it, but a look of comprehension dawned on Gwen's face as she saw Merlin throw a regretful glance at one small servant now leading Arthur and Merlin's mares away to the stables.

Arthur avoided her soulful eyes, knowing that she would be studying and wondering, delving and reading…Instead, Arthur, in his usual snappish, teasing way, told them all to shut up and gave them orders to get their asses home, sleep, and rest up.

They were all beginning to feel the after-effects of their sleepless night—_nights_, in some cases—and the adventures of the past few days, and they needed to be up and ready for the next morning…when things were supposed to be returning to normal, meaning that the Knights had training early, Arthur had training _and _council meetings earlier than early, and Merlin…

He had felt that unbearable itch again, just before the Knights rode up, as Merlin had gently taken his horse's reins from him, obviously intending to bed both his and Arthur's down for the night…

Merlin deserved better, and he was not a servant (no matter how many times the idiot told him that he'd "be proud to be Arthur's servant, 'til the day he died"). The only problem…_How?_

_Nothing was going to return to normal_… _Not now_. _Not ever_.

In response to his orders, the Knights had either sighed tiredly, nodded confusedly, or grumbled loudly—perhaps even a combination of all three—but they all managed a smile towards their other companions as they handed their horses off to the remainder of the waiting servants and started to walk away. It did not go unnoticed by Arthur, Merlin, _or _Gwen that they sent meaningful looks at each other. Arthur's eyes narrowed as they all suspiciously headed in the same direction.

"They're _not_…" Gwen began to say incredulously.

"Yep, I think they are," Merlin said.

_"Un_believable," Arthur hissed. "_Those_…"

Before Arthur could have thought of a good enough insult, Merlin started to snicker, and Arthur glared at him, a seed of worry sprouting in his chest. He and Gwen exchanged a look. His was more exasperated than anything, but their gazes both held the same pinch of fear.

It was very obvious that the Knights weren't heading to their respective homes at all. They were, in fact, unmistakably all walking in the direction of the Rising Sun Inn and Tavern. (1)

"Oh, come _on_, Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed joyfully. "If you think about it, tomorrow's sure going to be interesting…and hilarious to watch."

"Perhaps from the side-lines," Arthur grumbled. "But from the field? Not so much. You're not the one that has to deal with the idiots."

Merlin snorted, and he disagreed, smiling easily, "Watching you try to deal with them just makes it that much more amusing to me."

Arthur grimaced. "You have a very strange sense of humor, _Mer_lin. It makes me worry about the state of your mental health."

"What else is new?" the raven-haired warlock jibed, grinning with a diabolical, mischievous smile, the smile Arthur now dubbed 'the Dragoon grin.' He was beginning to learn to both fear and respect that smile.

Guinevere, whose eyes had not left the backs of the Knights, whispered, "Aren't you concerned, Merlin?"

Merlin blinked and asked slowly in genuine confusion, "Why would I be?"

"Don't you see what they're doing?" Gwen said shrilly, hyperventilating slightly. "Did it cross your mind that the reason they're going off together is to talk amongst themselves about your—um—what has happened the past few days? And that they're most likely heading off to a _public_ place to do so?"

Merlin shook his head immediately. "Again, why would I be worried? I trust them."

Arthur sent him a look of insulting disbelief, but before he could question, Merlin pointed and said, "And look. They've turned; I'd bet that they're heading to Leon's place (2)—he, after all, has more room, more privacy, and better drink than the tavern. Do you honestly think that they're _that_ stupid?" Merlin laughed and turned on his heel, heading for the castle.

"I won't answer that," Arthur muttered. He watched the disappearing Knights, who were doing as Merlin had guessed, and gave Gwen an "I suppose we'll just have to follow the idiot and drop it" look. He and she—after a brief hesitation—caught up with him easily.

"Merlin?" Arthur said warily.

"Hm?"

Arthur took a moment to gather his thoughts before he said, "What do you think of the news about Morgana and Morgause?"

"It's good news," Merlin said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Brilliant, in fact, for the most part. Morgause is weak—it may even be safe to assume that she will never recover. She was _far_ more powerful and clever than Morgana; she used Morgana as a puppet, and she was the mastermind behind most of their plans. I am glad to hear that one of our greatest enemies has fallen…but," Merlin's wise eyes swung to Arthur, his smile fading, "…the fact that the auctioneer _feared _Morgana…she has gotten stronger, and she has always been more ruthless than Morgause. She will not forgive Camelot nor will she see reason or back down, not with her black, vengeful heart and stubborn head. In time, she alone will become a far greater threat than Morgause had ever been."

The forceful way that Merlin said those words made chills run down Arthur's spine. This wasn't a mere _maybe_ or just a possible future; this _was._It was undeniable and set.

This was their fate.

"And even better!" Merlin added brightly, his smile immediately shining some light into the dark atmosphere. "They're searching for something that they cannot find. Do you know how much time that gives us, Arthur? To search and prepare? Now that we know what they're searching for, it will be far easier to track them and…"

"Are you sure that she—that _they_—won't…find you?" Gwen interrupted.

Merlin's lopsided smile broadened. "Tell me, Gwen, do I look like a sorcerer?"

She grinned and was about to answer, but Merlin stopped her, reading her thoughts. "Fine. It may seem obvious now that you _know_, but if you think back—was it only two days ago?—did you honestly _ever_ expect me to have magic?"

Gwen seemed stunned by the question. "I—you know what, Merlin?" she began, "I—it is so natural…so _you_…it's hard to see why—"

"—I thought you'd be the last person in the world to have magic," Arthur offered.

"Oh, the irony!" Merlin exclaimed teasingly. They chuckled, and Merlin continued, his usual goofiness evaporating once again, "And even if Morgana puts two and two together and sees 'Merlin' and 'Emrys' as one in the same, I'd like to see her _try_ to touch me."

"I'm kind of interested to see how you'll react if she ever does find out and she asks you to join her," Arthur joked. "Now, _that_, Merlin, would be amusing to watch."

"You have a very strange sense of humor, the both of you," Gwen muttered as Merlin started to snicker, imagining it.

"The council needs to hear about this," Arthur said.

"Yes," Merlin agreed simply.

"How am I supposed to tell them?" Arthur worried. He couldn't possibly tell the old Lords, all of whom where his father's supporters, all of whom shared the same beliefs on magic…

Merlin turned and studied the Prince seriously before breaking out into his crinkly-eyed smile. "Welcome to my world."

Arthur frowned, anxiety creasing his forehead. If only… "I don't like your world," Arthur admitted.

Merlin sighed. "Tell them the truth. Tell them that we saved Aislin and Enya in the forest—no need to tell them that they're Druids—and that they were captured by a sorcerer who had a grudge against their family—that would be the only lie there—and that they overheard him speaking of it."

"What about you—erm—Emrys?"

Merlin shrugged. "Gaius can supply that he—I am only a mere legend, and there is little hope that I exist…or perhaps he can tell them part of what those legends say. Whichever. They'll be convinced that the important thing is that she's wasting time and giving us some in turn."

Gwen blinked. "That's…actually a decently sound half-truth, Merlin."

"Gotta give me some credit, Gwen. Gaius and I are _very_ good with half-truths."

"I wish that you didn't have to be," Gwen said. Arthur kept his eyes straight ahead, but he felt his forehead crinkle. _How…_?

"I know."

They walked in a strained silence for a few paces, Arthur still mulling over what Merlin had said, before Merlin muttered thoughtfully, "I think it's later now."

"_What_?" Arthur asked, wondering what the hell was on his mind.

"It's later," Merlin said vaguely. "I have some words for you."

Arthur grimaced suddenly, remembering Merlin's serious, protective '_We'll talk about this later'._

Merlin's eyes hardened, his elfin features shadowing with earnestness, and he opened his mouth to begin. But suddenly, after floundering for a moment in thought, the light filtered back into his eyes, and they became jovial and playful once again. "Never mind," he said shortly and nonchalantly, grinning sheepishly.

"Are you serious, Merlin?" Arthur demanded, now more curious than exasperated.

"Completely," Merlin said shortly. "There's really nothing for me to say."

"Spit it out, idiot," Arthur ordered. "What _were_ you going to say?"

Merlin pursed his lips, and it came out in a rush, "I was going to ask—no, ask is too polite a word. I was going to _scold _you and order you to at least consider staying put when I specifically tell you not to follow me…but then, I realized that that was…" Merlin shook his head. "Imagine us in switched positions right now. How many times have I disobeyed you?"

"You _never_ do as you're told," Arthur agreed. (3) He remembered his Quest into the Perilous Lands, the unicorn-keeper's maze…There were many more. Too many to count. Merlin, the loyal, self-sacrificing idiot that he was, was always there. No matter the danger or threat.

"If you told me not to follow, I'd ignore you, as always," Merlin said with an easy smirk. "As different as we are, we're too much alike, Arthur." That phrase, _two sides of the same coin, _resounded through Arthur's mind, and it hung in the air—becoming increasingly present and true. Once invisible, that bond was now becoming more sharply defined. Soon, it would be there for _all _to see.

"We're both too loyal to each other _not _to follow," Merlin was saying, "And too stubborn and determined to do the right thing to care about our individual safety. Besides, we are friends, and friends stick together, destiny or no.

"So," Merlin laughed, "That's why I thought it was unreasonable to ask, but I may still ask, depending on the gravity of the situation, and even though I expect you to completely ignore my warnings, I should say now: please take caution if –_when_ you decide to follow me. Magic is far more dangerous than any weapon forged by man. And even though I have—"

"SIRE!" a voice shouted across the corridor from behind.

Merlin leapt up in alarm, a small spike of fear flashing in his eyes. Arthur watched as he pulled a part of himself away—to hide. It was the smallest of things, ever so subtle, a change in his eyes, a change in his countenance and posture, but it was more than clear to Arthur and Gwen. He didn't like it—not one bit.

Arthur turned towards the source of the loud, slightly crazed voice. It was a guard. _Eric, _Arthur remembered. His face was flushed with confusion, amazement, and above all, excitement. Gaius suddenly appeared from around a corner, following the eager guard's footsteps as hastily as he could.

"Sire!" Eric exclaimed breathlessly. "The King—your—your father…."

Arthur immediately felt his heart flutter. "What is it?"

"He—he _spoke_. He asked for Gaius," Eric said in incredulity.

Gwen gasped, and Merlin exchanged a look with Gaius, who looked just as surprised as the guard. None of them could understand or guess why and how _now, _of all times, the King had spoken.

Without a word or any conscious thought, Arthur immediately redirected himself—he had been heading first to his chambers to drop off Excalibur—to his father's chambers. He walked briskly—nearly trotting—and the others followed him dutifully. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest, filled with not only blind hope but also some fear and worry. Maybe, just maybe, his father was going to recover fully…

The guards standing in front of Uther's door automatically stepped aside for Arthur and Gaius, and after a look from Arthur, the reluctant, slightly bewildered and uncertain guards admitted Gwen and Merlin as well. Eric gave them a dim smile as he returned to his post, but Arthur hardly registered it.

"Father!" Arthur called, bursting into the chambers, the others hot on his heels.

Uther was lying back in bed, his face pale but set. He smiled serenely at the group, and his eyes…Arthur froze.

Arthur had never seen those pale green eyes so…_clear_, so soft. For the whole of his life, he saw those icy green eyes hard with the weight of responsibility, guarded from fear by a shield of self-assurance, and chillingly powerful. They had always been sure and stubborn, and there was never a day that Arthur didn't see them flash with temper or harsh will. Then there was the ever-present hatred of magic.

Rarely did those strong eyes ever waver; lately, ever since Morgana's betrayal, those eyes had been lost and pained, and there had occurrences when the King's eyes lessened in their severity for Arthur. He remembered those times fondly. Those times, Uther acted as both King and father.

What he saw now…Uther was no longer King Uther. Very little of that man remained. The man before him was his father, and his father alone.

It took no longer than a moment for Arthur to recognize the significance of this. He knew, in his heart of hearts, this would be the last conversation he'd ever have with his father.

His eyes pricked with threatening tears, but he was surprised to see Gaius's bright blue eyes filled to the brim with tears.

"Oh, Uther," Gaius choked, hobbling to the King's bedside before Uther could so much as draw a breath to speak. Gaius gripped one of his frail hands, and a tear ran down his nose.

Arthur was stunned. He had never realized how much the two men, the physician and the King, cared for each other, and there—before him—was the spitting image of the relationship he and Merlin shared.

"How did it come to this, my friend?" Uther said, his voice strong, but weary.

"You—you can't be…?"

"I am." Arthur's heart fell to his toes.

"I always said that I'd outlive you," Gaius teased.

Uther chuckled hoarsely and amusedly; it was obviously an old joke.

"But you have so many years on you yet, Uther. Many more than I do," Gaius added. "I—it…"

Uther held up a hand. "This is Arthur's age." His eyes turned to his son. "It is his time. I only regret that he has my mistakes to clean up…but that is his legacy and his fate."

Arthur's shoulders began to tremble, and he bit back tears. Gwen took his hand, and Merlin brushed his shoulder against Arthur's, letting him know that he was there.

"Perhaps I can…" Gaius began desperately.

Uther turned back to Gaius and said, "Gaius, you know I haven't much longer in this world. I want you to know: you are my oldest, most honored friend, and I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me. You've stood by my side no matter the consequences, no matter your disapproval, and you have sacrificed so much for the Pendragons. It was an honor to have known you. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

"It has been more than an honor and a pleasure, Sire," Gaius whispered, Uther's simple words drawing more tears. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Are you sure about that, Gaius?" Uther joked.

Gaius chuckled weakly.

"Forgive me, Gaius," Uther pleaded. "Forgive me for my mistakes, for my flaws, for turning against your advice, for…forcing you to do things against your wish and for losing sight of what really mattered."

"I forgive you," Gaius said immediately. "That is, after all, what friends are for."

Merlin squeezed Arthur's shoulder, and a flood of warmth spread through him.

Uther whispered something to Gaius, and Gaius's eyebrow rose. "Are you sure?"

Uther nodded. "My soul longs to be free. I see all too clearly what I have done, and I aim, as my last deed on this Earth, to begin to fix it. That is the only way I see to be free, to find peace. My only regret is that I cannot apologize to Morgana…" he shook his head. "Igraine would have wanted me to tell him."

Uther's softened, peaceful eyes turned to Arthur. "Come here, my son."

Arthur moved like a sleepwalker to his father's side. Uther motioned Merlin and Gwen, too, to come near, and they approached slowly.

"Father," Arthur croaked miserably. "You're not going to die," he whispered in denial. "I—I can't…"

"How you have grown," Uther breathed, studying his son. "You are more than ready to be King. When you last visited me, Arthur, you said some things that I could not help but shed tears over: tears of pride. I am proud to call you my son, and your mother would have been proud too. It is my fault that she is not here to see the man you've become."

Arthur took his father's hand from Gaius, and he saw Merlin tense from the corner of his eye. He didn't need to speak; his confused look spoke for him.

"I am sorry that I leave you with my mess," Uther repeated. "For it was my actions, and my actions alone that began this war—and now it will have to be your actions that either continue it or end it."

"Father, I—" Arthur protested, not understanding.

"Shush," Uther said gently. "I need to confess before it is too late." He swallowed, and his eyelids fluttered. "You need to understand why we are where we are today, and you need to know the truth from my own lips. What is to come—the challenges and the foes you will face—are of my making."

He took a shuddering breath. "Camelot was once a land of magic, Arthur. It was a beautiful time, a glorious time. We prospered, and there was peace. Magic flowed through the land." He smiled wistfully. "It was not evil—it simply _was_, but there were always magical threats. To understand these threats and to conquer them, I welcomed a sorceress in the court. Her name was Nimueh."

Arthur gasped, Gwen's hand flew to her mouth in complete shock, her eyes flitting between Arthur and Merlin, and Merlin flinched violently. Uther's eyes traveled to Merlin before going back to Arthur. "She was an invaluable friend, and she, when Igraine and I wanted an heir—a child—but could not conceive…

"We did not know of the consequences. Your mother's life was taken so that you could be born. Arthur, you were born of magic."

For a horrible moment, time stood still, and then his mind began working overtime. It was true. _He—_he was born of magic… his very existence was nearly as illegal as Merlin's! Arthur went cold with horror, a memory hitting him with a horrible pang. His head began to spin. "You—you mean…when Morgause…" His eyes went to Merlin, who was shuffling uncomfortably, an apology written on his face.

That was one thing he kept a secret from Arthur.

This did not escape Uther's notice, but he pressed on. "Yes. Everything that you said that day was true. All your accusations… I blamed Nimueh for your mother's death in my grief, but it was my ignorance to the laws of magic that are really to blame. I now know that Nimueh, while she did know that a life would be taken, did not know that it would be Igraine's. However, I was blind to reason. I still blamed magic. And so, the Purge began with the death of a Queen and the birth of a Prince.

"In my grief, I failed to notice that as great of a misery I had been dealt, an even greater gift had been bestowed. _You_. I was wrong, so horribly wrong… I was a hypocrite, a liar; I was blind, and now my hands are stained with blood. You were right to attack me that day—I deserved each and every horrible death that any sorcerer plotted…even the planned death by my own son's hand." A curiosity filtered into his voice. "But what surprises me: your servant knew the truth; he knew my evil, and yet he stopped you anyway from killing me."

Merlin…Uther…himself… the stories of the Purge, his birth, Merlin's broken family and his magic… the stories circled and circled in his mind like an ever-revolving wheel. One event connected to another and to another…the next to the next. The irony was so incredible and baffling…

"He never would have forgiven himself had he gone through with it," the raven-haired boy said humbly.

"I thanked you before, Merlin." Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, and he saw his father's eyes light with recognition as they landed on Excalibur. "And you once told me that there's a bond between you and Arthur. Now, I see just how powerful it is.

"Don't ever lose sight of that bond, Arthur. So much has changed since this young man was made into your servant all those years ago. I never knew how much of an impact he would make. You and Merlin are destined for something more than I could have ever dreamed of achieving. I see this now.

"Morgana is going to be a part of Camelot's future, Arthur. You told me yourself that you felt storm clouds gathering, and there is no turning back. She is now going to be your greatest enemy because of my actions," Uther said. "You will need help. Never lose faith, and never lose sight of what is important: friendship, trust, loyalty, and love. Merlin and Guinevere are going to be essential confidants in the times to come. Your Knights as well. You and I both know they will be by your side always."

Uther smiled at Arthur's shocked face with some amusement, "I give you and Guinevere both my blessing. Keep her safe, and keep her close. I'm grateful that you have found someone to love just as much as I had Igraine."

Suddenly, Gwen took out a handkerchief and cautiously and tenderly wiped at the few tears that had escaped from Uther's eyes. She, too, was crying silently.

Uther looked up at her with a mixture of regret and paternal fondness. "I feel horrible for what I have put you through these past few years, and yet, you became my caretaker anyway. Thank you for your compassion and care for the last few months. You will be a wonderful wife and Queen. Arthur is lucky to have someone like you at his side."

Gwen withdrew, smiled weakly through a sob, and curtsied, "Thank—thank you, m'lord."

Arthur was surprised to see Uther's eyes turn once again to Merlin. "Promise me, Merlin, that you will keep Arthur safe," he whispered. "As you always have."

"You need not worry, Sire," Merlin promised automatically. "I will always."

A huge load seemed to lift from Uther, and he relaxed. His eyelids drooped in fatigue, and his breathing became deeper and more even.

"Arthur," he said. "I hope, after all that I have done, you too can forgive me as easily as Gaius had. Not only have I placed a large burden on your shoulders, but I was never the father I should have been for you."

"There is nothing to forgive," Arthur whispered.

Uther smiled, and his laugh-lines appeared. "You will be the greatest king that the land has ever seen. I am so, so proud. Your mother and I will always be with you, watching over you, and we will meet again one day. I love you, Arthur."

He could not remember Uther ever telling him that he loved him—not in this way. "And—and—" His vision blurred horribly, but no tears fell from his eyes. "And I you, Father."

Uther smiled peacefully. "I believe in you, Arthur. Don't—don't ever forget that."

Those were the last words that Uther Pendragon spoke.

Arthur did not know how long he stared at his father through blurry vision, mumbling incoherently and clenching at his hand, nor did he feel Gaius and Gwen both kiss the top of his head and leave him for some privacy, nor did he realize that Merlin remained with him, but eventually, with one last smile at Arthur—a smile so full of faith, love, and harmony—Uther grew still.

Arthur's first diamond tear finally fell as his father drew his last breath.

* * *

><p>(1) I have no idea if the Rising Sun is an Inn and tavern or just a tavern *embarrased grin*<p>

(2) I also have no idea where any of the Knights live...

(3) Little commemoration to 4x2. That scene with Merlin spearing fish was one of my fav. :)

Hope that this was touching enough for you all. I might be editing in some things later, but I'm posting what I have for now. :) Grammar may be terrible. I didn't edit well...again. *sighs*


	6. Rise of the Ex Servant

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Both 4x3 and 4x4 were pretty dang awesome. I have to admit though, 4x3 was definitely a favorite (yes, I do make a reference in here to a Merlin-Arthur bromance scene). :D Dragoon was amazing. And that little dragon and the symbolism! AGH! So cute. But not too corny, which I find impressive indeed.

This was a toughie. I try to delve into some political things, but seeing as I know very little about how the politics and how court/council proceedings work... well, let's just leave it at that. :P It is tedious, I know, but hopefully the next chap, which I'm planning on being the last one, if it doesn't become too long, will make it up to you.

Thank you for your support :) Enjoy

* * *

><p><strong>Rise of the Ex-Servant<strong>

Arthur blinked, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light of the castle corridor. Merlin stumbled beside him, but he was too preoccupied to even smile. It was impossible for him to believe how beautiful and sunny it was outside, seeing as there was rain-cloud hovering in his heart. It was no longer raining there, but the pearly grey, dank gloominess remained. The sun was only beginning to break through.

He had just announced to the people his father's passing, and he had told them that he would be meeting with the council as to when the funeral and his following coronation would take place. He sighed, sullenly cursing his lack of judgment and time management skills; Arthur knew it probably would have been more practical to have announced his father's death _after _the court meeting, but he could not wait for that. He needed to let it out, and let it out he did. Now, the people mourned respectively with—no, not necessarily _with_—but _for_ their Prince's—now King's—loss.

_King_, Arthur thought. It felt so surreal…nearly as surreal as when he pieced together Merlin's identity and discovered he had magic. Completely, utterly unreal. His father was gone, and in a few days' time, he would be King.

His head spun. He had been preparing and training for this day since he had been born, he reminded himself… so why was it that now, when the moment was finally upon him, all he could feel was apprehensive?

In truth, Arthur Pendragon was afraid—afraid of one thing, and one thing alone. Failure.

His father's final words danced in his head like honeybees. This, above anything, even his grief, was what troubled him the most. The things he said, the things he confessed, the things he implied….the way he talked to both Gwen and _Merlin_…

He couldn't fail.

As it was tradition, Arthur would not give a formal speech both commemorating his father as well as celebrating his ascension to the throne until the day of the coronation, which was most usually set the morning after the funeral. He had to be thankful for that—not only did it give him a proper time to mourn, but it also gave him time to calm the swarm of bees.

He knew that what he was going to say would change everything, for better or for worse. No matter the possibility of a horrible outcome, he was going to speak his mind, and he was going to speak from his heart; he was going to do all that he could. He was not, under any circumstances, going to deviate from his set path—a path, a future that was becoming ever more precious, ever more glorious to him.

Yes, this speech would determine everything. The future he and Merlin dreamed of would either fly high on a beam of light or burn in a downpour of fire. If he failed…he was failing more than himself. He was failing his father, his people, the magical community…_Merlin_. How could he fail Merlin when Merlin had never failed him?

He snuck a glance at the pale warlock, whose cerulean eyes were miles away. Even now, it was Merlin who was keeping Arthur together. He was the only one who wasn't looking at him like he was delicate or like he was going to burst into tears at any moment. Even the subtle, concerned and sympathetic looks from Gaius and Gwen—even the way they spoke—as though they were cautiously treading over thin glass…it was too much. That wasn't to say that Merlin was indifferent towards Arthur's feelings. In fact, it was the exact opposite; the night before proved that.

~…~

Merlin had remained with him as Uther had drawn his last breath, his head bowed. Arthur hardly felt more than a twinge of embarrassment at his open display of raw emotion, and he allowed the tears to fall steadily, dripping quietly into the fabric of Uther's shirt. Silent sobs shook his shoulders uncontrollably. Part of him wanted Merlin to leave, to leave him in peace, but once he realized _why _Merlin was there, he felt a rush of affection for the raven-haired idiot.

Merlin wanted to make sure Arthur felt he wasn't alone… like he had been himself.

Arthur remembered Balinor with a cutting clarity. Balinor had not known his own son because of Uther, and Merlin had had merely a day to process that his father was a Dragon-Lord and another to actually speak to the man as his son. Because of Uther, Merlin could not tell Arthur of Balinor's relation to him, and he was alone as he watched his own father die in his arms. Arthur, the ignorant, oblivious fool that he was, had even made Merlin feel more lonesome by telling him that no man was worth his tears.

Yes, Merlin knew what it was like to feel alone, and that was why he was standing by Arthur's side now. He didn't want anyone to have to go through what he did.

He felt grateful towards Merlin's sensitivity, and his presence there as he cried over Uther's body comforted him more than he knew. Thinking of Balinor and Merlin, Arthur came to the realization that he had been lucky, lucky and blessed, to have known his father for the whole of his life. Merlin had had but hours.

Soon enough, his eyes had run dry, and he had suddenly felt exhausted. Wearily, he kissed his father's cold brow. "Rest in peace, Father," Arthur had whispered hoarsely.

He could hardly believe his ears as he heard Merlin repeat the blessing and include some words of his own. "Rest in peace, Uther Pendragon. May Avalon free your soul."

Looking up abruptly from the dead King's peaceful face, he stared at Merlin. "You—I don't understand," he stammered, slowly rising from his knees to his feet. "You told me that you hated him," he stated softly.

Merlin gave him a small, apologetic smile. "I thought I hated him, but I don't think it ever really was true…no, I _know_ it wasn't true. I wouldn't be here if I truly hated him," Merlin looked down at Uther curiously, eyes unreadable. "It was more hateful pity than true hatred. I spoke in haste, I see now. He—he accomplished his last goal: he redeemed himself."

Arthur saw it. The heavy lines had disappeared from his father's face, and the tense mouth relaxed and lips slightly upturned with the hint of his last smile—it had been a smile for Arthur…but suddenly, the young man felt a strange mixture of renewed pain and guilty anger.

It—it sounded almost as if…

"After everything that he's done—" Arthur began with a tone colored with disbelief "—after all that he's done to _you_…breaking apart your family, leaving you fatherless, making you have to worry about certain death, forcing you to hide who you were, to lie, and to feel so alone…after _all _of that, you forgive him?"

Merlin shifted, and his eyes went to his boots. Finally, he said, "It does no good to dwell on, or to dwell in, the past, not when you have a present to live and a future to create. That's not to say that recalling fond memories is wrong or that remembering hellish ones—the Purge, for example—is unwise; memories make up a great part of you, but if you live in them, you'll miss the opportunities in the present. As it is with memories, it is with dreams as well. You could get lost in the dream, forgetting to take the journey to make that dream a reality and losing yourself there in a world that doesn't exist. There needs to be a balance—a balance of the memories of the past, moments of the present, and dreams of the future."

His steely blue eyes glinted like flecked granite, and his voice grew deep and soft. "It is hard when the past can haunt you and when the future can scare you." Arthur felt those eyes boring straight into his mind, reading the emotional turmoil beyond his sadness.

"His aura had been scarlet, Arthur," Merlin had added quietly. "The scarlet of the Pendragon crest. Everything he was, everything that he stood for—he did it for the love and defense of Camelot. He always did what he thought was the right thing, and though I did not particularly take to his image of the 'right thing,' I almost admire him for having the courage to follow that image.

"But, it took far more courage to do what he did tonight…admitting that he was wrong, confessing his shame, humbling himself to Gwen and I…That was when his original purple—the purple that had disappeared after your birth—began to filter back into the scarlet. The color: though different, it was the same…it reminded me of yours, Arthur."

His brilliant blue eyes softened. "Do I forgive him?" he mused softly. "Yes, actually, I believe I do. What he said…" He shook his head, awed surprise filtering back into his eyes, and he said sheepishly, "I wish I could say that I'm sorry for your loss, but I know that sorry isn't always enough. It's unsatisfying. Besides, I think you'll being hearing that so often in the next few days that it will hardly seem genuine anymore."

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle weakly at Merlin's interesting point of view. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, his eyes still stinging. "Just being here…that is more than enough. You are a good friend, Merlin. A good man."

Merlin blushed, and began to protest, "I lied to you. I lied about your mother."

Arthur made a motion to brush it aside. "I know why you did. It doesn't matter. What matters now is that I know the truth, and I can act on it."

"What are you going to do?"

Arthur's eyes glimmered, knowing that the time was now. "He told me he'd be proud no matter my decision, but I think he seemed to sense that I already had made it. Not only did he bless Gwen and I, but he admitted your importance. Merlin, there's nothing I want more than to be a part of the future you dream: a land free, its people free, _magic _free."

Merlin's eyes glazed over with tears, and his face began to break out into a huge, sunny grin.

"I know next to nothing about magic," Arthur admitted, Merlin's lopsided, crinkly-eyed smile forcing one of his own. "You, on the other hand, _do_. I will need you more than ever if this is going to work."

Merlin's smile slipped from his face and was replaced by a vague, open-mouthed expression. "You—you…You're asking me…?" Merlin stuttered, eyes wide.

Surprised at himself, Arthur rolled his eyes mockingly. "Perhaps I shouldn't ask you. I couldn't possibly have an idiot for a Court Sorcerer."

After a brief moment of complete stillness, Merlin's confused and shocked face began to brighten with a smile again as he finally realized what Arthur had meant. Arthur could see the conflict in his eyes, and understanding that Merlin was uncertain about how events would play, he said, his exhaustion suddenly overcoming him once again, "I understand that you are worried. I am too. You have done your part—you have shown me the beauty of magic—and now, I must return the favor and play _my _part. I will do everything in my power to make Camelot see you and those like you for what you truly are. I promise, Merlin. We will have—peace."

He swayed on his feet, and all of a sudden, his head felt unbalanced on his neck... felt heavier than it should have. He put a hand to his head and began to pinch the bridge of his nose, right between the eyes, where a migraine was forming. He felt his mouth go fuzzy, and he slurred, "We will speak of this later…"

He suddenly felt Merlin's thin body next to his, and he felt Merlin take his arm and place it around his bony shoulders. "C'mon, Arthur. You're exhausted, and you have a big day ahead of you—a long week as well."

Arthur resisted stubbornly. His father… "I want—I need to stay with him."

"Gaius will stay with him," Merlin soothed. "He is not going anywhere. You need to sleep."

There wasn't much Arthur could do; he felt the warm embrace of Merlin's magic, and he felt as though he was suddenly filled with air. What Arthur tried to say next was, "Merlin, don't you _dare_ put me to sleep," but what ended up coming out was, "Merlin, don-you-air-pu-me-seep."

Merlin beside him sighed, and said, beginning to lead him away, "Don't worry, prat. You're doing that well enough on your own."

Arthur remembered brief flashes of the castle hallways, then his room, and then of Merlin helping him out of his clothes before his vision slipped, and he fell asleep.

~…~

Arthur snapped back to the present. "Merlin," he called softly.

His raven-haired friend immediately lost the day-dreamer's gaze and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you going to be needed any time soon?"

"What?"

Arthur sighed. "Are there things you need to be doing now?"

Merlin blinked and started to snicker. "Well, you would know, wouldn't you? You're the one who gives the orders, and since you haven't given me any errands or chores in a full seventy-two hours…no, there is nothing I need to do now. Unless you have something for me to do?"

Arthur laughed for the first time that morning and smacked the back of his head lightly. "I want you to come with me to meet with the council."

Merlin immediately lost the good-humored light in his eye and asked seriously, "Is that wise?"

Arthur chewed his lip.

Merlin had been to some full court meetings before, as a servant. Usually the ones he attended where the dull, boring tax meetings that took hours to finish. Arthur had forced him to come, his mentality being that if he had to go sit through that torture (his father thought it was good that he get comfortable sitting in council), there was no reason Merlin should miss out. It amused him to see Merlin struggling to stay awake, and it brought him satisfaction to kick the then-servant, who would scowl and groan silently as the jug or platter he was holding wobbled ominously (sometimes it wobble _more _than ominously, resulting in a loud clanging, a wet Lord, and spoiled food), to make him stand at attention. Also, many nobles—not the noble-born knights anymore, but the Lords and Ladies of the court—resented his—er—less than polite and respectful opinions and manners towards people of higher status than he, particularly disapproving of his interaction with the Prince.

Suddenly, with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, Arthur foresaw major trouble ahead. If Merlin was indeed made his Court Sorcerer, there would be a lot of trouble enforcing his mandatory presence. He chuckled, allowing himself to imagine how Merlin would try to escape them, before returning his thoughts to the matter at hand.

Besides the meetings Merlin had served in, there were meetings, such as the one he was off to now, that Merlin had never been allowed to be a part of. Even Arthur had rarely been granted permission to join them in the past, as he was usually busy with his own duties as Prince. However, as Regent, a huge amount of his father's responsibilities had fallen to him, and he had been summoned to more and more of these meetings—the meetings his father would usually handle while he was out training the knights or defending the kingdom.

These were private meetings. Only the King—or the Regent, in Arthur's case—as well as the top members of the council were allowed in. Entering once of these meetings unasked was strictly forbidden, and there were severe consequences to those who were foolish enough not to wait for of approval for admittance after they knocked before opening the door to deliver messages.

"Yep, I do," Arthur said.

"They won't like this," Merlin warned.

"I know," Arthur admitted. "But I was thinking about it…and in a few days, they're going to have to get used to listening to your input anyway—whether they accept this or not. Better now than later, right?" He saw Merlin consider and reluctantly agree with the statement.

"I know you're nervous," Arthur murmured. "But I _have _thought this through. We need to make a leap of faith now or else it will never be done." They came to a stop before the council doors. "It's time to take a risk."

Merlin sighed, and he nodded. His eyes steeled in determination, hiding the insecurity he felt at taking such a sudden step. "It's a wonder that Kilgharrah seems to think it's laughable that I sometimes have little faith in destiny, isn't it?" he joked sarcastically.

Arthur chuckled, his own nervousness returning to him. "I have to say I agree with you."

The young future King and warlock smiled at each other nervously and reassuringly at the same time, sharing their uncertainty with each other and ironically enough, drawing confidence from each other. They might have been climbing a steep, slippery slope, but they were not going to fall. For all their worries and uncertainties, their stubborn wills soon found their footing again.

Arthur pushed open the chamber doors.

~…~

"What is _that _doing here?" Lord Godwin roared in outrage. The Lord's pudgy face jiggled as he leapt to his feet, his multiple chins swinging.

Merlin's nose wrinkled slightly. He knew that this man had been Uther's major supporter when it concerned magic. In his opinion, the flabby man was even more ruthless than Uther was, if that was even possible. Uther might have been paranoid, and he might have been an 'arrest now, ask questions later' kind of man, but Godwin was beyond paranoid. His obsession with ridding the world of magic was more the '_stab _now, ask questions _never_' type of obsession. If something had even the scent of magic, Godwin threw all his force into eradicating it, and no matter what, he would not sway his judgment. In fact, Godwin still held grudges towards Merlin, Gaius _and _Gwen, whom all had been convicted of sorcery at least once, even after they had been proven innocent.

"_He_," Arthur corrected menacingly, "is here because I invited him to join us, and you will respect him as you would my father, me, or any of your fellow advisors."

Geoffrey, the Court Librarian and Genealogist, and one or two others who knew Merlin well nodded acceptingly with curious glances towards the young, raven-haired young man. Lord Rupert, on the other hand, his naturally ruddy face now beet red with anger, sneered, "He cannot join us."

"And why not?" Arthur challenged.

A few of the council members began to laugh. "He's a _servant_," Godwin hissed, hand on his decorative sword, as if that explained everything. "An idiot peasant."

_If only they knew. _Merlin brushed aside his boiling anger with a practiced patience. He would not let the words of mere _bullies_ affect him. He never had, and he never would.

"Do any of you know what this man has done for me?" Arthur whispered severely. "He rides with me; he fights alongside my Knights and returns unscathed. He has saved my life more times than I can count and has discovered and solved just as many plots against Camelot. It doesn't matter that he is not a noble in blood: he has my trust, and I value his advice."

The words flew right over Godwin's head, and he barked a fake laugh. "The joke is over, Arthur. You are no longer a child, and you should not be making friends with _servants_. First, you inappropriately allow commoners to become Knights, which I only accept seeing as they helped overthrow Morgana—" Arthur began to interrupt angrily, but a quick shake of a raven-haired head warned him to keep his mouth shut "—and then you court a servant girl, which, again, I can only accept because her brother is now a Knight." Merlin and Arthur's anger flared higher, and their fists clenched simultaneously at their sides. "But I can't stomach much more," he said disrespectfully and cruelly.

Merlin frowned while he was talking, wondering how a Lord could speak this disrespectfully to Arthur (even he did not speak _that _disrespectfully) and unconsciously, he called upon his _aura-_reading magic. A multitude of colors erupted around him, but he focused primarily on Godwin's. Cold hands gripped at his heart. _Of course_, Merlin thought with bitter sarcasm. He would have to watch Godwin carefully.

_Arthur,_ Merlin gently said, using his magic to project his thoughts.

Arthur's hand flew to his head, and he let out a surprised cry, glaring at Merlin instantly.

Merlin raised his eyebrow innocently as Lord George, a kind-hearted man who had once helped Merlin pick up some armor of Arthur's he had dropped in passing, asked, "My lord?"

"Sorry," Arthur apologized quickly. "I think something bit me."

His eyes flicked to and then away from Merlin. Now, they were not so enraged, but questioning; he obviously recognized the magic in Merlin's eyes. He seemed to be the only one to notice the subtle change in his eyes.

Taking that as a pass to continue with what he wanted to say, he warned, _Be wary of Godwin. He plans on using your youth and inexperience against you. A few others may have similar ideas, but his plans are most clear._

Arthur understood immediately, and his expression hardened.

"As I was saying: any more of that nonsense, and I'll think you've been enchanted," Godwin added lazily, causing Merlin's eyes to snap back to their crystal clear blue.

Before Merlin could stop himself, he snorted, causing the advisors to wrinkle their noses in disdain, rage, or even interest at his behavior.

"Why do they always assume that enchantments are involved?" he muttered to Arthur, who couldn't help but grin at the joke.

"Insolence! You should have sacked him years ago! He is nothing short of disrespectful!" Rupert spat in reaction to Merlin's snort. Arthur seemed unmoved, but Merlin could see him losing patience.

"Leave us, boy," Godwin growled, his face scrunching in anger.

Merlin, his face controlled and seemingly unfazed by the insults and by the new dilemma in his and Arthur's hands, deliberately gave him an amused look. This man thought he had any power over him? Was he so mad for power that he was blind? He had only just realized that his loyalty to Arthur was already quite legendary among the people and the knights. Even in his first days of being Arthur's servant, he had usually looked to the Prince for confirmation of another noble's orders before ever carrying them out. Of course, there were those times he disobeyed Arthur completely, but that was beside the point.

"Unless I gravelly mistaken, sir, I'm led to believe that Arthur is my master," Merlin quipped in mock politeness, slipping into his role as servant. "He asked me to come; I came. Arthur?"

Arthur gave him a look that suggested that he was really pushing it, but Merlin couldn't miss the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. Stay." He addressed the council, "We are wasting time arguing. We have more important matters to discuss: the funeral, the threat I faced a few days past, some news on Morgana…"

The council instantly froze at Morgana's name, their eyes either wide with surprise or fear. Merlin hid a smile, seeing how Arthur manipulated the situation. He could be very clever, Merlin had to admit. _When he wanted to be_.

"He must leave, Sire," Rupert protested. "It shouldn't be allowed."

Geoffrey stood. "Perhaps, if the Prince—forgive me—" he corrected. "If the King could enlighten us on his reasoning?"

Merlin saw Arthur smile genuinely in Geoffrey's direction, knowing he had found an ally. "Though he may seem a clumsy fool," Arthur began with a well-known snappish, nonchalant and teasing tone that he saved specifically for Merlin and his Knights of the Round Table, "Merlin has wisdom beyond his years. Some of that must have been passed down from his uncle."

"Uncle?" Rupert blurted.

"Merlin has been the Court Physician's ward since he came to Camelot years ago, but few know that Gaius is not only Merlin's guardian but also his biological uncle." Before Arthur could lose them, before they could deny that this fact was important—even Merlin was unsure where he was going with this—he continued, "In light of my father's death, I realized that Gaius will not always be with us. Merlin has been Gaius' unofficial apprentice, and his skill in the physician's field is uncanny. I have seen that he is just as good, if not better, than Gaius."

Merlin shuffled his feet, trying not to avoid the interested looks in a multitude of faces. He saw Arthur send him an amused look, and Merlin knew he was thinking about his healing magic.

"And what is more: by living with Gaius, Merlin has had more exposure than anyone else on knowledge about magical threats and creatures. He helped play a major part in bringing about the destruction of the Gvarath as well as finding this information on Morgana." Merlin's eyebrow scrunched, wondering if it was a good idea to be speaking of his connection to magic at a time like this. "He is a valuable person to have in court, and he perhaps may one day even take Gaius' place."

Geoffrey blinked, and a slow, approving smile spread across his face. Others, including Rupert and Godwin, glared while a small amount of muttering ran through the group.

"I agree, my lord. Seeing as Gaius is not here now…" the bibliophile said. "He is preparing King Uther's body, is that correct?" Arthur nodded, and Geoffrey continued, "I believe there is no harm in allowing Merlin to stand in his stead today, especially seeing as he has been a part of the things that have taken place. Do you trust that Merlin will not breathe a word of what occurs here, Arthur?"

"I trust him with my life," Arthur said determinedly.

"I can vouch for the boy's trustworthiness as well, if that is the concern," Geoffrey declared, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Is there any objection?"

Merlin was surprised. He didn't think that Geoffrey had particularly cared much for him and neither did he realize how much power Geoffrey had in the court nor know just how much he was respected. At his words, the others either agreed readily or reluctantly, but they agreed. He could remain… A feat within itself—but that did not mean that they would listen.

He and Arthur exchanged a look. It was only a small victory, but they were a step closer.

~…~

Within the first five minutes of the meeting, they decided that the funeral would take place in two days—at sunset, Arthur insisted—and that Arthur's coronation would take place the next morning before midday.

Arthur was impressed by Merlin's behavior so far. He could tell that the young man had been inches from strangling a few people and had been bursting to add a sarcastic, witty comment in an undertone. However, except for the first few mess-ups and his snort, Merlin was surprisingly respectful, and sensing that there would be trouble from Lords Godwin and Rupert if he spoke out of turn, he remained quiet and observant, his intelligent eyes clear and vigilant.

At the council's urging, Arthur spoke about Morgana next, following Merlin's advice. Merlin was right; they did not question much on Aislin and Enya as soon as they learned that they were unharmed, though they did discuss how true their information was (Merlin smirked during this part). Geoffrey, more than any of the others, seemed extraordinarily interested in the sorcerer Emrys (which made Merlin study the man with hidden and inconspicuous curiosity), and they decided that any more talk of what to do concerning Morgana's search could be postponed until after Arthur's coronation.

Then, Arthur began to speak of the Gvarath. It was easy at the beginning of the story—and all too easy to recall the creature itself—but then it came to the hard part—Dragoon. In a last moment decision, he revealed that magic had aided him.

Merlin jerked up in surprise, his wide-eyed gaze locking onto Arthur in shock.

"WHAT?" Godwin roared. "You would be so foolish as to conspire with a sorcerer? To ask for one's help? HAS YOUR FATHER TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?"

"You'd be surprised what my father has taught me," Arthur said coldly. For a moment, he deliberated revealing his father's last words, but he knew now was not the time.

"He came to _me_," Arthur asserted.

"It shouldn't matter!" Rupert exclaimed.

"It _does_ matter."

Arthur turned to Merlin, surprised. Before he could stop him, Merlin was speaking eloquently and calmly. "He trusted Arthur, the son of the man who hunted his kind, enough to offer his help to Camelot. Without his magic—yes, I dare say it—the Gvarath would still be at large, stealing _auras_, killing innocent people. He risked his life in first braving Arthur, who was set on killing him at first—" Arthur flinched "—and then again as he faced the creature. Does that sound like an evil sorcerer to you? If he was this so-called 'evil sorcerer': how is Arthur still alive? Why didn't he just leave us to the mercy of the creature?" Most of the council members frowned thoughtfully, and their brows pulled together. "Most importantly: why does it matter _how_ he helped? Shouldn't it matter that he actually _did _help?"

Taking advantage of the court's surprise at Merlin's calm, thoughtful speech, Arthur added, "He alone knew how to defeat it. Magic, sword, and fire together were the only way to kill the creature."

Godwin's dim brown eyes narrowed. For a moment, his gaze flickered between Merlin and Arthur, as if he was uncertain who to verbally attack first. "We must hunt this man," he announced. "If he is as powerful as you say, he must be found and killed."

Arthur saw Merlin picking at his nails, his mouth tense. He looked resigned—almost _bored_. This was his life: the hunting, the hatred driven by fear and misunderstanding….He was used to threats and running, forever running…

"You will not find him," Arthur said. "He disguised himself to ensure his safety and his true identity, and he will most likely never be seen again in that disguise." He saw Merlin's lips twist upward, obviously appreciating how Arthur had twisted the truth. "He was different, and he proved to me that he only used his power for the good of the kingdom."

"Why would he?" Geoffrey suddenly asked, his bushy eyebrows scrunched together.

"Would you rather that he was like the others?" Merlin inquired softly. The others seemed dumbfounded by the question, and he added, "Is it that hard to believe that someone with magic could indeed be here to protect rather than destroy?"

"Magic is only evil," Godwin snarled.

"Dragoon proved otherwise," Arthur shot back.

Merlin sighed. "What is done, is done. There is nothing we can do to change what we did. And if we could…" his eyes flared sagely and sadly "…would you care to take the risk?"

Even Godwin and Rupert were silent, and though Merlin's jaw clenched under their gazes in his embarrassment at his boldness, he did not lower his gaze. Arthur had to admire his courage and his humanity. If it had been him, being goggled at like a three-headed dog, having to hide the truth all the while, he would have lost control and patience long ago.

That is when Arthur called for dismissal, insisting that much had to be done before the funeral and the coronation. Seeing that there was nothing that they could say, many of the court members immediately approached him and offered their condolences, trying to be secretive in the way they looked at Merlin.

Godwin, however, glared as he waddled as majestically as he could to the door. He spat at Merlin's feet and slammed the door on his way out.

Geoffrey's lips grew into a thin line as he witnessed the insult, and he approached the two. "Daft man," he said under his breath, causing Merlin to smile deviously. To the pair of them, he said, "You were very brave to do and say what you did, the both of you. Gaius will be proud, Merlin; I always knew that you were a smart, reliable young man. And I'm sure Uther would be proud of you, Arthur. You will indeed be a great King. Together, you both will go far."

"Thank you," Merlin and Arthur said in chorus, touched.

Geoffrey bobbed his head pleasantly. "I look forward to your speech, Sire. I know you will surprise us all."

Arthur watched him bow slightly and take his leave, muttering about researching Emrys.

~…~

Merlin opened the infirmary door and groaned.

Peeking his head in, Arthur saw the source of the groan and grinned. "You haven't gotten rid of these yet, Merlin?" Arthur asked.

"I haven't had the chance," Merlin grumbled, allowing Arthur in and shutting the door quickly so that the balls of light wouldn't escape.

Arthur watched the multicolored lights bounce lazily all around the room, pulsing faintly. They were quite beautiful, ethereal even, and his mood brightened.

They had just walked from the council chambers, talking quietly about what had happened there. They were more pleased than disappointed, though Merlin was obviously worried about what he saw in Godwin's aura.

"It—it _jumped_," Merlin had said, "when you revealed my—er—Dragoon's part in events. I watched it. He already wanted to use you and rule through you. But now—now he does not think you are fit for the throne at all."

"That's only to be expected," Arthur had pointed out. "I don't expect to be loved by everyone for this."

Merlin shook his head. "It was more than disapproval. Be careful, please. I don't trust him."

Gaius had then appeared suddenly, looking flustered and rushed; he asked Merlin to go into the infirmary to fetch some things for him and then to join him.

And that was how they came to be there to see Merlin's hiccup-lights.

Suddenly, after a few moments, of watching the lights bounce haphazardly, Merlin smacked his palm to his forehead. "I'm such an idiot."

"Glad we agree on something, then."

Merlin either didn't hear or pretended not to. He just beamed and held out his hand, saying in a deep voice, "_Afeorsian_." (1)

Suddenly, with a glow of gold, all the balls stopped in their movement, quivering in midair before they faded away.

"What were you doing wrong?" Arthur demanded curiously. "They disappeared just fine."

Merlin laughed sheepishly. "I was trying to _destroy _them. Once created by magic, something cannot be destroyed... only changed and morphed into a new form or into energy." (2)

"So…what did you do?" Arthur asked, not understanding.

"I sent them away."

"Where?"

"The lake of Avalon," Merlin answered.

Well, if he couldn't destroy them, that was as good a place as any, Arthur thought. The lake already had magic of its own, and it was hard to find…

"And it took you how long to figure this out?" Arthur asked, smirking.

Merlin scowled. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

* * *

><p>AN: (1) Translation: to remove, to expel, to go away depart.

(2) Yes, I know there are some BIG flaws to that logic...Just ignore those flaws for the sake of the story?

Bit of a weird ending... *shrugs* I hope some of this seems at least a little realistic (please, if you have suggestions, feel free to tell me because some parts still feel a smidge off to me), and I hope you enjoyed my little bits of Geoffrey. ;) The man interests me, and I wish we saw more of him in the show (every time I think of him, I think of how Merlin tricked him into thinking he was dreaming in 3x9, I believe it was. LOL)

As always, this may be edited at any time.

Hope you've liked it. :)


	7. Treason

Disclaimer: IDOM

WARNINGS: Harsher language than I usually use

AN: I have realized a few things.

1) I am a liar. This is most definitely **NOT** going to be the last chapter. I keep repeating 1 or 2 more, 1 or 2 more, but this story has spun out of control! I hardly expected it to be this long. This chapter is only half of what I had planned for my supposed "last chapter." I don't know what has happened. So much for a 3-5 chapter fic *rolls eyes at self*. I'm not going to guess how much longer this fic will be, seeing as I'm very, very bad at guessing how much is left. I promised some more action, and you do get it, but the other things I promised, namely the big speech...erm...well, that's next chapter (hopefully) ;)

2) I'm feeling like the luckiest girl alive. ANOTHER DRAGOON APPEARANCE! What? :D

I enjoyed 4x5 (Queen Annis and Gwen just did soooo brilliantly), and those Merlin-Arthur moments (bromantic and tense alike) where amazing! And now there's next week's...which looks absolutely hysterical. Merlin-enchanted to be an assassin? My clumsy Merlin? LOL!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Treason<strong>

Arthur's head felt like it had been trampled by a horse four times over. He dropped his quill, leaned forward onto his desk, elbows slipping slightly on the mess of parchment covering it, and placed his head into his hands. He began to knead the ball of his palm gently into his eyes.

There had hardly been a moment of quiet after Merlin and he had parted ways at the infirmary the day before. The castle was and buzzing with activity; everyone seemed to be rushing here or there, bustling and bobbing through the masses of other bustling and bobbing people, and everyone seemed to have something to do in preparation for the upcoming celebrations.

Arthur had seen neither hide nor hair of Merlin since the day before. He had some efficient but utterly boring man, who only arrived to draw his baths, clean his room, and bring food before making a mad dash out and back to his other duties in the preparation efforts, caring for him now .

He did, however, know that Merlin had entered his chambers a few times. He once returned to his chambers to see the armor he was going to wear at his coronation gleaming as the light from the late afternoon sun struck it. The way it was so carefully yet untidily stacked left no doubt as to who delivered it, and the shining metal could only have gotten to be so pristine through the use of magic. Having smiled at Merlin's thoughtfulness, Arthur thought that there were some definite perks in having a warlock as a friend.

Outside of this kind deed, Arthur could hardly fathom as to what Merlin was doing. Arthur himself moved through the day with such speed, he could hardly remember what he had been doing minutes before.

The funeral was the next day, but the work was never-ending. A part of Arthur liked the total preoccupation of his mind so that he wouldn't have the time to allow his mind to wander. When he did have that time, his stress boiled over to panic, and an echo of his grief would somberly overlook all of the new self-doubts and worries filtering into his head.

He had not yet finished—or even fully begin—to write his speech, and he was finding it near impossible to set his thoughts on paper. Dozens of failed attempts littered the floor and his desk. In the mood he was in now, he was looking forward to burning each and every one of those crumpled balls, each and every miserable failure.

Excalibur was resting near—its keen edge forever sharp, never in need of a sharpening, Arthur had only just discovered. He supposed it was a side-effect to the dragon-fire that had burnished it. Deep in thought, he removed a hand from his head and fingered at its hilt.

How could he honestly put into words his decision to overrule the ban on magic? Most of his decision centered on Merlin, and he was convinced that there were no words that he could possibly say that would ever truly epitomize all that Merlin meant to him and all that this future meant to him. How could he tell of Merlin's sacrifices and his unwavering loyalty? His friendship and his magic? How could he possibly explain the ironic intricacies and secrets cocooning them all, connecting them all in a truly glorious web of truth? There were no words…

He was jolted from his thoughts by a sudden, tentative knock on the door. For a moment, his mood brightened, thinking that it was Merlin, but then he dismissed the fancy with a snort. Merlin never learned how to knock properly, and if he ever did knock, it meant extreme trouble. Perhaps it was Gwen? Without looking up, Arthur called, "Come in!"

He should have prepared himself for disappointment because as he raised his eyes, he saw a young lad, barely twelve years of age, a messenger, entering. Ginger curls falling into his face, the boy bowed and swung the door nearly shut.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, trying to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

The boy drew himself up proudly, and announced, "The council wishes to speak with you immediately, Si—"

Before he could finish, a familiar, thunderous crash and a whoosh of air interrupted him. Merlin came skidding in, his raven locks tousled from an obvious hurtle through the castle and his stormy eyes a little wild.

The door that Merlin had flung open hit the boy from behind, causing him to stumble and cry out. Yelping, Merlin tried to divert his momentum, and he only just managed to avoid falling onto the boy before losing his balance and crashing into a small table holding a vase of colorful wildflowers that Guinevere had dropped by as a gift.

For one heart-stopping moment, Arthur could have sworn he saw a glimmer of gold in the young warlock's eyes and the vase begin to slow its fall.

"Merlin!" Arthur warned. It was enough that Merlin understood, and he paled, shook his head violently, and leapt back. The vase shattered, and the water spilled, carrying the flowers across the room.

"I—I'm sorry," Merlin panted to the ginger-haired court messenger.

The boy glared, and snapped, "Weren't you ever taught to knock?"

The look on Merlin's face was so comical that Arthur had to fight even harder to keep from bursting out into hysterics. The most hilarious part was that Merlin seemed too taken aback to even make a witty retort, so instead he blinked in shock and tried to catch his breath.

Face flushed with anger and embarrassment at having made such an outburst in the presence of royalty, the boy turned back to Arthur stiffly. "They said it was urgent, Sire. If you'll excuse me?"

Arthur nodded, "Of course. Thank you."

The boy sent Merlin another evil look, and as he stomped out, Arthur could have sworn he heard him mutter under his breath—as though it were a curse—"_Servants."_

Merlin's eyes narrowed at his back, and he said, in the exactly same tone, "_Court messengers."_

Arthur snorted and then began to laugh hard. "Are you _serious? _There's a—a _rivalry_ between servants and messengers? That is ridiculous!" He managed to scoff through his mirth.

"_You _try dealing with those arrogant know-it-alls walking all over you, and we'll see how long you last before you want to chop their heads off," he muttered, waving his hand. The vase that he had shattered flew back up onto its stand, fixing itself in the process, and the water and the flowers soon followed.

He suddenly made avid gesticulations with both arms. "But that doesn't matter at the moment!" he exclaimed. "I had to come and warn you, prepare you…There are Druids here."

Arthur's smile fell from his face at the news, and he gawked in surprise. "_What?"_

"That must be what the council meeting is about," Merlin said, speaking quickly. Anyone who wasn't Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, or perhaps Lancelot wouldn't have been able to follow the speed of his words. "I don't understand. Druids are anything but rash, but this? Coming to Camelot and requesting an audience?_ What_ are they playing at? There must be a reason… Anyway, they contacted me through mind speech that they sent a representative ahead. There was nothing I could say to make them recall their man and wait for us to come to them. One of them is entering the castle to speak, and he must already be here."

Arthur got to his feet, shuffling through the mess in a search for his keys. "Did they say anything about why?" he asked seriously.

"Unfortunately, no," Merlin huffed worriedly. "They only gave me enough warning to prepare for what _might_ happen…I didn't get a name or even _proof_ that it is indeed a _Druid_ entering. He may have used the name 'Emrys,' but for all I know, it could be another renegade Druid a little too reckless for his own good."

"If that's the case, I'm sure you can handle the rogue sorcerer, Merlin," Arthur muttered, smirking at Merlin's blush. "This is _your_ area of expertise after all."

"Hardly," Merlin disagreed under his breath. He suddenly shook his head, rolling his shoulders unconsciously and shuddering. "That's not it. I just have this—_feeling_…I can't shake it off or figure it out," he said in frustration. His voice became soft and caring. "Just—just do me a favor and tread cautiously…particularly around Lord Godwin."

Arthur finally found his keys and looked up to study Merlin closely for a moment.

Not many saw what Arthur saw. They could not look past Merlin's faded shirts, shabby jackets, worn boots, and ragged neckerchiefs. They saw a servant—a nobody. But this was not what Arthur saw. Arthur saw the lopsided, impish smile, the unmanageable raven hair—a personification of Merlin's bizarre and sporadic ways—the bizarre goofy-wise eyes of both blue and gold, shining with wisdom, willpower, loyalty, and humor. Arthur saw the warlock, the protector, the _friend_…

He might've scoffed at Merlin's request, but he knew that the young man _always_ had a reason for his madness. He knew that Merlin was worried for what they might have to deal with in the council chambers, for what might happen to the Druid, but this extended beyond that. Arthur knew by now to trust Merlin's instincts when it came to magic as much as he trusted his own in a sword-fight.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Merlin, and as much as I wish I could break his nose for his blatant disrespect towards you and I…" Arthur sighed. "You're right. Rein me in, huh?"

Merlin snorted. "Only if you promise to keep me from transforming him into a pig."

"You can do that?" Arthur asked hopefully.

"Arthur!" Merlin chided, smiling diabolically. "I haven't tried before, but you know I could do something unspeakably horrible to him anyway."

Arthur laughed, remembering 'Dragoon' using the same words. "Deal."

For all their jokes and for all their mockery, they both knew that Godwin was not one to be trifled with. They both knew of his cowardice, the greed, and his plot for power and utter loathing of magic, and they both knew that he was a major part of their worries.

Little did they know that in his strive to eradicate magic, he would become the very type of man he fought against.

~…~

"_Excuse me?" _Arthur said in a deadly whisper, his brilliant blue eyes inflamed with anger. They flashed around the group, which was trying to avoid the harsh gaze.

"_Fools," _Merlin breathed in disgust. He was leaning against a pillar, his face hidden by the shadow. Arthur knew that his face was now pale and deadpan, his eyes dangerous, intimidating, and sparking with as much ferocity as Arthur's. Perhaps even more so. The council members shifted uneasily under Arthur's fierce eyes, but for those who saw Merlin's shining through the shadows, they shuddered. Arthur Pendragon's rage was frightening, but there was something even more so in Merlin's.

Lord Rupert had gotten right down to business, hardly giving Godwin the chance to protest Merlin's presence, and explained why they had summoned him, Godwin glaring all the while.

If Merlin noticed, he showed no sign, but Arthur resented the glare with every fiber of his being. It had been hard to contain his rage then, but now, there was no holding back. He allowed it spill over and flood.

"We took the Druid to the dungeons, Sire," Godwin sneered, repeating Rupert's report to humor Arthur's rhetorical question. "He should be executed the dawn after your coronation, I believe," he added coldly.

"And you made this decision without me," Arthur stated, his blood boiling.

"It is what your father would have done. I assumed…"

Arthur stiffened and inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "If there is one thing that I have learned from my father," he said slowly and clearly, "it is that you should never assume anything."

He pulled open the council chamber doors abruptly, hardly fazing the well-trained guards, who had had more than enough experience with temperamental royals storming out.

"There is a man in the dungeons," Arthur told them calmly. "Please fetch him and bring him here. Do not enter until I say." He began to turn away, and then he swung back, adding, "And if he has been harmed in anyway…" he allowed the threat to hang in the air, his tone speaking enough for him.

The instant he slammed the door shut, there were mumbles and cries of surprise.

"My Lord!" Lord George exclaimed. "He is a—"

Arthur held up a hand to silence him. No one dared refuse, and a tense silence hung over the group.

"Let me set this straight," Arthur began with forced patience. "I am not Uther. Already, you think I am. Because I'm unsure of myself, indecisive and inexperienced, you think I'll follow his exact footsteps, fall back on his ideas and plans when I have known nothing else. Though I am proud to be compared to him and proud to be his son, no matter his faults, I will not stand in his shadow. I have my own name to make in Camelot. Do not assume that my father and I are one and the same."

Some of the council members looked shocked—shocked that he had read them so clearly—and Arthur felt a grim contentment when he saw some shame filter into their eyes.

"I may be young; I may be inexperienced," Arthur continued, "And I'm sure you are all worried for the fate of this kingdom because of it. How am I going to alleviate this worry and become the King that Camelot deserves if I do not make my own decisions? I need to learn from the choices I make—mistakes and successes alike. How can I ever trust my own rule if the council hardly trusts me to make the choice? How can I, in turn, trust my council?

"Remember, it is law that the council of the previous King remains for the first few months to advise the successor until the successor forms his own and-or asks individuals from the previous council to be a part of his own. As I said yesterday, it is wise to think ahead…Death is merciless, and I need to develop good relations with my council early, and I need people near me that I can trust." Arthur's eyes flickered to Merlin unintentionally, and then he said, "Is my point clear?"

There were nods and "yes, Sire"s. Geoffrey's eyes glowed with a mixture of pride and smug satisfaction (Arthur was right to see an ally in him, and his disappointment in the problems he was having in his transition to King abated), but Godwin…

"How are we supposed to trust you, my _King_," he sneered sarcastically. "When you insist upon releasing sorcerers and when you want to listen to their lies?"

"The Druids are a peaceful people," Arthur responded. "Key word: people. They are not animals and have just as much right to speak as any living in the city walls. They should not be caged for simply having a different life-style and different customs. Besides, most of them are philosophers, healers, and Seers—isn't that correct, Geoffrey?" Hesitating only long enough for a nod, he finished, "They have never done us harm, and they never will."

Godwin laughed cruelly. "Their mere existence threatens us all. They have magic," he growled.

"And I have a sword," Arthur said in a mock-chipper tone, tapping lightly on Excalibur's hilt.

Merlin snorted and tried to cover a burst of giggles with a cough, resulting in a few raised eyebrows in his direction. Arthur was surprised to see most of them smiling at Merlin and his pathetic effort to stop laughing. Allowing a small smile of his own to spread across his face, Arthur realized that he had never known just how well-liked Merlin was, how many people he touched…

"…did you forget about the cursed Druid girl?" Godwin was saying loudly. "Did you forget that the Druids once kidnapped the Lady Morgana?"

_Uh-oh_, Arthur thought, his concern immediately directed at Merlin, who winced violently. Morgana and Freya were two of Merlin's worst failures—he blamed himself for their fates—and it was like a stab in the gut to be reminded of them.

"I saw Arthur fighting Fr—the Druid girl in her Bastet form," Merlin said through clenched teeth. "She had no control over the magic that possessed her, and it _hurt_ her. There is no plausible reason why she would want that for herself. It was obviously not her choice."

Before Godwin could retort, Merlin raised his voice. "Also, we know now that Morgana has magic, and if you remember, she was not always evil. That would be Morgause's influence. The supposed kidnapping was before she even met Morgause and long before Morgause took Morgana away. If her magic had developed around that time, it would make sense that she would seek Durid help, seeing as there is no one here that could have understood or helped. Imagine if King Uther learned. He never could, and she was afraid. And having not yet met Morgause," he shrugged (guiltily, Arthur noticed), "who else could she have turned to?"

The men blinked, and Geoffrey breathed, "That makes a lot of sense. I remember that incident being connected to the fire in her chambers—the one that started after Lady Guinevere insisted she blew out the candle flame."

"That is just uncertain speculation!" Godwin spat. "You cannot trust them!"

Arthur almost groaned. How in the world did Merlin deal with this? It was the _truth_, but there was no way that any of them could ever see that—not without the desire to see the truth for what it truly was.

"The Druids did not or attack or try to defend the Cup of Life when Arthur and his men went for it," another Lord named Owen said calmly. "That is something we cannot deny."

"Does it matter? Look where it brought us! A witch as Queen, innocents dieing!" Godwin roared.

Merlin cocked his head. "You see plots where there are none."

"_You_!" Godwin snarled. "Who do you think you are? Sauntering in here, following our Prince around like the _mutt_ you are. Nothing more, nothing less, you are _peasant mutt!_"

"Godwin!" Geoffrey and Arthur snapped at the same time, faces beet-red. Gasps resounded through the council chambers, and everyone's eyes swung to Arthur, knowing he would defend Merlin, and Merlin himself.

If anyone had a right to explode, it was Merlin, but to the intense surprise of them all, he began to _snicker_. Godwin gaped like a fish, taken aback by Merlin's resistance to fall into the trap of returning the insult, his control...and his absolute quirkiness.

Both eyebrows rising in disbelief, Arthur looked around at Merlin, a question in his eyes.

"That's actually quite an accurate description," Merlin grinned easily. "Never heard it phrased exactly like that though."

Arthur's brow furrowed as he stared at his friend, trying to make sense of the joke. His mother, Hunith, and his father, Balinor, the Dragon-Lord—A peasant and a Lord of dragons… The explanation: Merlin's odd sense of humor mixed with Merlin's strange way of viewing the world.

Arthur shook his head and chuckled, "You, Merlin, are mad, mad but absolutely brilliant."

The council members began to laugh, not understanding, but laughing all the same, but Godwin's face was an interesting shade of purple as he recovered and asked venomously, "Perhaps you prefer _bastard_?"

Silence. That slapped the smile off of Merlin's face, and Arthur saw memories of growing up without a father swirl in his eyes, memories of the children taunting and teasing him for it….

There was a knock at the door: the guards had returned with the Druid and were now waiting outside.

"Leave," Arthur growled. "You have no clue as to what Merlin has done for me and Camelot. If you understood the sacrifices he made for us all, you would probably grovel at his feet for forgiveness, and knowing him, he would forgive you…even after the despicable insult you have given him. If you cannot find it in yourself to respect Merlin, then you are, by extension, disrespecting me. Furthermore, I cannot have you challenging my authority."

Godwin knocked his chair out from under him. "My pleasure, _Sire_. I was just leaving." He began to stalk out, but then he turned and declared ominously, "You have lost sight of your enemies!"

Arthur bristled. "Perhaps I have merely opened my eyes for the first time."

He watched the fat man leave, glaring at his back the whole while, before he turned to Merlin, who sagged against his pillar, eyes on the floor. "You alright?" he asked softly.

Merlin looked up and said, "You didn't have to do that, Arthur. Stand up for me."

"Of course I did," Arthur disagreed. "It's about time that someone did."

Suddenly, Geoffrey let out a shaky laugh. "You two never cease to amaze me," he breathed.

~…~

Finally, Arthur called for the guards to lead in the Druid. Immediately, Merlin and Arthur gasped and squinted in disbelief as they saw the man.

His eyes might have been hazel, his hair a dark brown, but there was no denying the similarities. He looked like Enya.

The man's eyes immediately sought out Merlin, and he visibly relaxed, and when he found Arthur's, Arthur was surprised to see the same amount of gratitude directed towards him as there had been towards Merlin.

When the guards left, the man stood tall, and Arthur had to admire his confidence. "What is your name?" he asked kindly.

"Kynon, my Lord, son of the Druid chieftain Iseldir."

Arthur and Merlin's smiles broadened simultaneously, and after exchanging a brief look with Merlin, he said, "It's remarkable how much your daughter looks like you, Kynon. She and Aislin spoke of you fondly, and I'm glad to meet you. How are they?"

Kynon's eyes brightened, but before he could speak, Lord George asked, "You know this man's daughter, my Lord?"

"Aislin and Enya, this man's wife and daughter, were the ones who had been kidnapped by the auctioneer a few days past, and they were the ones who gave us the information on Morgana," Arthur said quickly. The Lords' eyes widened, and they watched the man with new interest in their eyes.

"I cannot thank you enough, my Lord, for their lives," Kynon said, his eyes flicked to Merlin, indicating that the thanks extended to him as well. "They are well. Better than well actually," he said good-humoredly. "They wished to come with me today."

"I'm glad to hear it," Arthur said in relief. "Their sacrifices for our kingdom and their loyalty to us will not be forgotten. They were incredibly brave."

"Indeed, my Lord," Kynon said with pride. "We are all proud of them."

"So what does bring you here today…beyond expressing your gratitude?" Arthur asked curiously.

"The Druids wish to offer our condolences for your loss, first of all, Arthur Pendragon," he bowed his head respectfully. "My father also wishes me to ask, in the name of our clan, for your permission for us to enter the city to celebrate your coronation."

"You trust us enough for this?" Arthur asked in surprise, knowing that if they were caught…

There was no hesitation. "Yes, my Lord."

~…~

Arthur stumbled to his room, his soft pillow the only thing on his mind.

Kynon's request had been immediately and peacefully approved by Arthur and Merlin, and once Arthur asked him to refrain from using any form of magic in the kingdom for fear of how the people might react and once Merlin offered several other minor cautions, the council agreed nearly as readily. They, in turn, promised their safety so long as they kept their promises and behaved themselves.

Merlin and Arthur left the courtroom with Kynon and spoke to him privately for over an hour. He was an intelligent man, and he had a sparkling sense of humor. Arthur had a feeling that Gwaine and he would get along just swimmingly.

Arthur apologized for the precautions that they had to take to allow them into the city, wishing that they could have the freedom to be themselves, but Kynon had brushed the apologies away with a motion of his hand saying, "It is enough to know that the time is near. To be a part of this history is all that we want. The Once and Future King and Emrys together—it is what our people have waited for over two decades. Longer, if truth be told. We believe in you both, and after you saved Aislin and Enya…we knew that the time was upon us. The Druids are celebrating. We see this as a major progression towards peace."

It amazed Arthur how quickly loyalty had come to him. The Druids were loyal to Merlin, as he was Emrys, and he expected them to have a little more trouble having faith in him. It was anything but.

After sending greetings to the rest of his clan, they parted ways—Kynon to his camp, Merlin off to do whatever it was that Merlins did, and Arthur to bed.

He kicked off his boots lazily, and he frowned at the mess of parchment that remained on his desk. He should really try writing…But his sleepiness overcame his guilt at procrastinating, and he fell asleep before he could move to the desk.

~…~

Merlin felt the blood running down his neck and bare arms and into his eyes, and his foot seared with an icy fire. His head spun as he drew in ragged pants, and he limped and lurched drunkenly on his destroyed foot.

How could he have been so careless? How could he have missed something as important as this? He should have known…or at least guessed.

His body screamed at him to stop, to rest, to slip into blessed unconsciousness, but his mind pushed himself through the pain. He couldn't be late, not this time. He couldn't let this happen.

They were going for Arthur next.

~…~

"NNNN!" a loud, deep cry echoed through his subconscious.

"AGH!" Arthur cried, jerking upright, half-asleep. He was awake enough to see Merlin—shirtless and bloody—ramming into a dark figure hovering over him.

There was a loud _thud_ as two bodies hit the floor, and a clank of a weapon falling to the ground. A dagger, glinting in the moonlight. The two men—one nearly twice the size of the other—wrestled and bit and punched and possibly used some magic to gain some dominance over the other.

Depending on his battle-hardened reflexes alone, still confused from the abrupt awakening, Arthur flipped out of bed. His foot got tangled in the bedclothes, and he crashed to the floor. Immediately, he lunged forward for his sword and shot to his feet.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Arthur perceived everything with a horrible clarity in merely milliseconds. A man had just tried to kill him, and somehow, someway, Merlin had stopped him…He began to panic: Merlin was hurt. Badly.

Arthur leapt over the bed to the side of the fight. "Roll, Merlin!" he said, beginning to swing down his sword.

Merlin, for once, did as he was told without question and rolled out of the way just as the flat of Arthur's sword struck the man in the head, knocking him out cold. For good measure, he did it once again.

Merlin coughed and groaned through the neckerchief that had been used to gag him, "Ar-ff-ur?" His bleary blue eyes blinked up at Arthur, and seeing him unharmed, he squeezed them tight and relaxed his muscles.

Without sparing the unconscious man a second glance and throwing down the sword, Arthur fell to his knees next to Merlin.

How he managed to hold his own in the fight for so long was beyond Arthur's comprehension. Gagged and hands bound in front of him, Merlin was a mess. He was indeed shirtless, covered new mutilations that criss-crossed over his scarred torso. Bruises coated his sides and face. A dagger had obviously been held to his throat as a thick, nasty line of red welled and coated his collar bone. For some reason, both of his boots were missing along with one sock. The un-socked foot barely resembled a foot. It had been stomped on—breaking two toes at bizarre angles, cracking toenails, and stripping the flesh from the top…

"Merlin, c'mon, stay with me," Arthur said, gently shaking his shoulder. Merlin didn't make a sound, but he flinched in pain. Arthur withdrew quickly, his panic overtaking all rational thought. "You need to heal yourself, idiot!"

His relief crashed upon him like a waterfall as Arthur saw Merlin's eyes flicker open and as he struggled to sit up. Arthur helped him up and watched as the familiar, warm gold overcame his eyes.

New skin slowly inched over the broken skin of his foot, the toes snapped back into place with some nasty _pop_s, and Arthur had to turn away at the sight of the toenails. Arthur felt the magic racing through Merlin as it flowed up his body, closing the cuts and dulling the yellow-purple bruises all over his torso, and as it finally reached his neck and face.

"Thank God," Arthur whispered as the young man sighed at the liberation from the pain. He looked exhausted, and he leaned against Arthur for a brief moment, resting his sweaty head on Arthur's shoulder and taking a few calming, deep breaths.

"What the _hell_ happened, Merlin?"

Merlin's eyes glowed again, and his bindings snapped off. With steady hands, he pulled off his gag, making a face and smacking his lips and sticking out his tongue a few times to get over the taste of the material. "_Godwin_!" Merlin growled, lunging to his feet.

Before Arthur could say another word, Merlin purposefully and angrily sped to his chamber door, opened it, and dashed out, and before Arthur could even process what was happening, he heard a yelp of surprise and some stomping.

Merlin reentered the chambers with a fearsome expression on his face, dragging behind the fully dressed, grotesquely fat Lord Godwin. Godwin's dim eyes swiveled nervously about the room, looking as though he were searching for some escape. But there was none, not with Merlin's hawk-like grip on his arm, not with a furious Merlin on his case.

Godwin looked terrified of Merlin, and he was struggling with as much force as he could muster. He seemed just as confused as he was scared, which signified only one thing: he ordered the attack on Merlin and had been expecting some form of harm. He was still covered with blood, but—but there were no wounds to be seen.

_Oh damn_.

Standing to his feet, head still whirling with confusion for what had just occured, Arthur watched with a fascinated horror as his scrawny ex-manservant—one foot bare and shirtless—pushed the Lord to the ground. He splayed out and backed into a wall, Merlin hovering over him, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

"My—my Lord. What is the meaning of this?" Godwin whined nervously, avoiding Merlin's gaze.

"Deciding to play dumb, Godwin?" Merlin hissed.

Godwin's temper flared, and he shouted, "How dare you! You attack me—"

Merlin barked a humorless laugh. "No, that was your job, wasn't it?"

"Merlin?"

Merlin spun around, pointing accusingly at the unconscious man. "That man is a part of Lord Godwin's household, Arthur."

Everything clicked and connected in his turbulent mind—Godwin did not just order Merlin's attack…but his own as well. Arthur swung his gaze to Godwin, his head spinning. This man—a man loyal to his father and to Camelot for so many years…tried to kill not only Merlin, but him.

There was no hiding the fear in Godwin's eyes, but he said with an expressionless tone, "Why is that man…?"

"Silence. I'm losing patience with you, oath-breaker."

The way Merlin said it even had Arthur shivering, and Merlin returned to what he was saying, "His name is Samuel; he and I have some history—" he grimaced, and Arthur suspected he did not want to know this history. "You can see that the idiot carried the crest of Lord Godwin's family on his person." He flicked up the dagger and placed the hilt in Arthur's hand. The crest was easily recognizable.

"He caught me when I was on my way home," Merlin said. "And while I was…indisposed, he laughed, promising that you would be the next to pay."

"Assassination," Arthur said under his breath.

"I found this fool hiding in a room near." Merlin's eyes flashed. "He wished to see if Samuel carried out his job and to be here to cover his involvement if necessary."

He turned to Godwin, who was shivering with the fear of a man who had just been caught and cowering at the force in Merlin's voice. "You have just committed treason against Camelot and your King. Do you deny it?"

"M—ma…gic," the man stuttered incoherently under his breath, staring wide-eyed at Merlin.

"Answer him, Godwin," Arthur demanded.

Suddenly, the fear abated and was replaced by wrathful resolve. "How can you say that I have committed treason? Hypocrite! You seek to make friends of sorcerers! You _have! You_ have committed treason yourself, Arthur Pendragon! Magic is evil, and those who practice it are devil spawn." His eyes flicked to Merlin. "Just like your _mutt_. He has magic. He should be unconscious—if not dead—after that beating… if dear Samuel did his job properly. How else could he have healed so miraculously?"

Arthur gave Merlin a look, and he pursed his lips, looking down at himself. He looked like he wanted to smack himself in the face. They could not hide the proof or twist the truth this time.

"So you don't deny it," Arthur stated simply.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Godwin screeched crazily. "He has magic!"

"And I have a sword," Arthur repeated his words previously with a merciless grin. "He is my friend, and he has my absolute trust, magic or no magic."

"This kingdom will fall with you as King! I was doing the people a favor by…_removing_ you and your secret sorcerer! So long as I live, my allegiance is never to you. I will never rest until you are dead!"

He suddenly spat in Arthur's face, and Merlin was suddenly in Godwin's face, gripping at the front of Godwin's clothes and forcing him to look into his eyes, which were whirling with hints of gold. "I will protect Arthur with my life so long as there is breath in my body, so it appears we have come to an impasse," he said with a mock-thoughtfulness. "That is all that I have ever done," he said. "So many have tried for Arthur's life. So many have failed. How do you think this will turn out?"

Godwin stared up at Merlin for a moment in defiance, but obviously he was at loss for words. Suddenly, he just…went limp, defeated.

"You will be tried for your crimes, Godwin," Arthur said in resignation. An execution was hardly something that he wanted to deal with on the first days of his official reign, but this was unforgivable. "Merlin, would you mind fetching someone to take this—" he searched for a suitable word "—_trash_ to the dungeon?" He hefted the dagger in his hand and picked up Excalibur. "I'll make sure it doesn't scurry off."

Godwin squeaked with fear as the dagger and sword lowered towards his chest. Funny, Arthur thought, how all the fight was now gone from the man.

"My pleasure, Sire," Merlin said, turning to go.

"Oh, Merlin?" Arthur said, pulling off his shirt.

Merlin spun around and caught the shirt that Arthur had thrown to him. He nodded in thanks and slipped it on.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Arthur asked.

"Are you?" Merlin teased, rolling his eyes.

Arthur smiled and said, "Thank you, Merlin."

"Another day, another plot for your life," Merlin joked. "I feel as if it's my fault. I should've seen it."

"You can hardly expect to be a master at reading _auras_ already, Merlin!" Arthur scoffed, seeing Godwin flinch uncomfortably from the corner of his eye. "You did warn me multiple times."

"Still—" Merlin began to protest.

"Merlin—"

"Shut up?"

Arthur smiled, gesturing to the door, and stepped on Godwin's foot as he moved a little too much for Arthur's comfort, making the fat man hiss in pain. "Get some rest once you send the guards. Tomorrow'll be another busy day."

"Of course, Arthur," Merlin said, fingering something in his pocket. "G'night."

After Merlin left, Godwin muttered, "Despicable. I never thought you'd sink so low. Our King, _friends_ with a freak."

"He is anything but a freak!"

Without thinking he dropped the dagger from his right hand and punched Godwin's nose, breaking it. Arthur shook out his hand as Godwin cursed like a drunken Gwaine and howled. "Seems like my deal with Merlin is now null," he mused to himself with a grim smile.

"I will tell them all what he is!" Godwin threatened, tenderly holding his nose and tears beading up in his eyes.

Arthur gave him an amused look, one eye-brow raised. "Do you honestly expect them to believe you? And if they did, don't you think those loyal to him—all of his friends—would protect him as much as he has them?"

He grinned as the realization passed over Godwin's face, pity and hatred welling up in him for the man. "But you need not worry, Godwin. Soon, all of Camelot will know of his deeds, and he will be rewarded fittingly for all that he has done."

"This trust will be your end," he spat.

"The way I see it," Arthur said slowly, "this is my beginning."

* * *

><p>AN: I'm not sure if the next chapter will be up on time because my grandparents are visiting us from a different state next weekend. :) Just a warning. Thanks for reading!<p>

Note: The 'bastard' part was inspired by "Wayward Sons" by Ultra-Geek. (This is now going to be rated T, by the way, I think...)

:)


	8. A Yellow Rose

Disclaimer: IDOM and I don't own the quote from 1x10 "The Moment of Truth", either. :D

AN: Hey, everyone. This is a short one compared to what I usually do. It was supposed to have the speech in here, but that is proving harder to write than I thought (the introduction is proving to be horrid). Being the perfectionist that I am, I know that it's going to take me some time to complete and make me fully happy (and given the suspense and anticipation I'm building up, I need to make all of YOU even happier. Lots of pressure. LOL). So, I decided that the fluffy stuff could be posted early as a separate chapter. The way I figure: something is better than nothing. :) Perhaps I'll combine them later. *shrugs*

Anyway, enjoy:

* * *

><p><strong>A Yellow Rose<strong>

Awash with gold, the drops from the small drizzle an hour previously glittered on each blade of grass and each leaf like jewels. They clung to the greenery laxly, hanging perfectly suspended in time. There was something so innocently fresh and beautiful in the adorned grass—something subtle and magical, something that would be invisible were not those glistening water droplets crowning the individual blades. They wavered in the slight breeze, casting tiny, shadowy prisms across the flesh of the leaves and grass, and every so often a droplet would gracefully fall with a soft, musical _plip_.

It was sunset. A halo of radiant peach lit the horizon, and the spaces between the purple-hued clouds threw beams of jagged golden light. It seemed as though angels were peeking their luminous faces from their high home to look down upon the Earth, upon Camelot, upon the solemn, elegant gravestone marking the body of Uther Pendragon.

His father had loved this time of day: sunset. He had liked seeing another lively day beginning to slow down, and he had loved to see the transition from day to night. It had been a time he could, for a moment, let his guard down ever so slightly…relax. This time of day held even more sentimental meaning to his father as well, Arthur knew. He had married Igraine at sunset, and Arthur had been born at sunset. Yes, it was only fitting that his father would be laid to rest at this time.

A mass of dark crimson roses, symbolizing mourning and sympathy, littered the grave. White roses, a symbol of purity and peace, dotted the red, placed there in the hopes that Uther's soul would quickly find its blessed place of eternal rest. Arthur carefully fussed at some of the flowers on his father's grave, recalling fond memories, when a warm arm wrapped around his waist, and a smooth hand slid over his, gently putting a yellow rose in his hand.

He smiled, tears budding in his eyes for the first time that day.

It was a flower of joy, friendship, and hope for the future. It marked a new beginning.

Gwen guided his hand with a tender touch, and together, they dropped the rose over the grave. The bright yellow stood out like a beacon amidst the red and white, bright as the setting sun.

The funeral was over, and those who came had by now left the future King in peace. Even Merlin and Gaius were gone, but they stayed longer than any of the others, only slipping away after apologizing gently for leaving, implying that they were leaving so that Arthur could have some time alone. Gwen, however, was the one to remain behind this time.

Her soft lips touched his neck as he brushed away at his tears. "When something touches your heart, don't be afraid to cry. Those tears can be beautiful," she said softly. "There is strength rather than weakness in those tears."

"Between you and Merlin, I could make a book of wise sayings," he teased softly, kissing her. "Thank you, Guinevere."

She brushed a thumb across his cheek, leaving a warm tingling on his skin where she touched. "You've been incredible these past few days, Arthur," she complimented.

Arthur absentmindedly caressed the petals of a crimson rose, though his eyes did not stray from the yellow. He shook his head. "When Balinor died," he began slowly, "you probably do not remember how Merlin was acting…you probably didn't even see him, as you were so busy helping in the infirmary—anyway, when Balinor died, I, of course, knew nothing at the time about his relation to Merlin, but Merlin… he watched his father take a sword for him, die in his arms, and though he shed a few tears, he hid a majority of the pain from me. He had to—to protect his secret. I only realize now just how much of a feat that was. Imagine! Meeting your father for the first time and then immediately having him taken from you! Knowing Merlin, he probably blamed himself as well, which added to his hidden pain.

"And then, later, when I confronted Merlin about his reaction to the Dragon-Lord's death, thinking that he had only cried because of survivor's guilt, I foolishly told him that no man was worth his tears. How _horrible _that must have felt! He had every right to shed tears, but he could not. He could only stand there and hide the truth. Again, he did not show his pain. Instead, he seemed embarrassed that I caught him crying, insisted upon coming to face the Dragon, and _teased _me. He was smiling _that _smile, you know, Gwen? Despite the searing pain inside, the loneliness, the fear of inheriting a power he knew so little about, he _smiled,_ and he did what was necessary.

"He stayed with me when Father drew his last breath," Arthur continued through a thick throat. "Because he knew how it felt to be alone, and he didn't want me to have to go through the same thing he did.

"It is this that I think of whenever I feel I'm about to fall apart. I think of Merlin's impossible strength and the things he had to sacrifice. He put a smile on his face, and he pushed his grief away, knowing that things had to move on, knowing that any slip on his part could get him killed, knowing that he could never name Balinor as his father. His experience with Balinor made me realize how lucky I was to have _had _a father in my childhood and how lucky I am to be able to give him a proper recognition and burial. Merlin, without even meaning to, is pulling me through."

"He is always there for us…whether we know it or not," Gwen mused.

Arthur sighed, and he felt a horrible wrench at his gut. In less than twenty-four hours…

"What is it, Arthur?" Gwen asked gently, seeing his brow heavy with worry.

"I'm lifting the ban on magic tomorrow," Arthur said simply, rubbing his forehead and exhaling shakily. Her grin widened. "And…I _want_ to recognize Merlin's part in this—no," he said, in response to a question Gwen was about to ask, "—he doesn't know about that, and I plan on keeping it that way until I actually say it in the speech tomorrow. Should I be doing this without his permission? Yes, I think so. For one, I don't want the fool panicking for no good reason until he really has to. And I have known him long enough to know that he will never reveal his secret to the public on his own, so I've come to the conclusion that I'm just going to have to do it for him."

She smiled at his attempt at a joke, but, of course, saw it as vain attempt all the same to release some nervous tension. She began playing with one of her long curls unconsciously. "You're not second guessing yourself, are you?" Gwen asked quietly.

"Of course not!" Arthur cried indignantly. "I want this future more than anything; I want Camelot to be free of fear and mistrust, and I want Merlin to be free….for the first time in his life. Completely, utterly, irrevocably free." Arthur dropped his hand. "But—but what if—what if something happens? Godwin, last night…" he trailed off and shook his head furiously at the memory. Gwen shuddered beside him, all too aware of how risky and potentially dangerous the situation both he and Merlin were putting themselves into was.

"I don't want to see him hurt again because of this! I'm glad you didn't see the state he was in. It was horrific—what Godwin's man did to him. Sometimes, I see the effect Merlin's had on the people here in the city; he's touched so many lives, often in the smallest of ways, and I think that we have a good chance of pulling this off… but then, I think of the intense hatred in Godwin's eyes, the disgust and disdain. All confidence I finally reform, lost in the blink of an eye. They might revolt, for all I know; they might try to kill him for his magic."

"It won't come to that, Arthur," Gwen said forcefully, as if trying to convince herself of the same.

Arthur snorted. "Of course it won't. I'd have to send the idiot away for his own safety."

"You really…?"

Arthur whispered, "There're only two outcomes. Half and half chance. One or the other. There is no in-between. If I succeed, the people will accept the change, and they'll accept him. Though there will be some lingering prejudice, some animosity and awkwardness—he knows this—eventually, after he's proven himself to the whole of Camelot and they recognize him for it, all of his dreams, everything that he's ever wanted, will become reality. Not only that, but peace will reign."

A brief warmth rose in his chest at the thought of Merlin's absolutely dumbstruck face, his blinding grin…but then the image was severely overrun by a wash of cold at the thought of the other side: the undeniable fear and hurt in those stormy eyes.

"And then if I fail, he will be forever hunted, forever mistrusted. I will be bursting the safety bubble that he's lived in—forcing his nightmare to come alive, and there's every possibility I'll be forcing him from his home and friends. Am I right to take _his _risk? Am I right in trying when there's a possibility I could ruin his life?"

"Merlin would hardly see it that way. He trusts you."

"I can't lose him. He's the brother I never had, Gwen," he said desperately. Gwen's eyes shone at the confession from him. "He means more to me than I can say. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I fail him…not after all he's done for _me_. And it's just my luck that I can't seem to write my damn speech. Is that a sign that I'm doomed to fail?"

Gwen looked up into his brilliant, sky blue eyes and placed her palm directly over his heart. "If it's in here," she said applying a gentle pressure into his chest, "you can accomplish anything.

"Do you remember Ealdor? The Round Table? You had no speech pre-written—you had nothing but your will and your heart. Seemingly hopeless situations, both of them, and your words, your belief, changed that. The men at Ealdor found the strength to fight with not skill and numbers, but with fierce determination alone; a small group of men, fighting against overwhelming odds, found the strength to infiltrate a castle of immortal men and evil witches, inspired by your words.

"Because that is what you do, Arthur. You inspire people. I need hardly tell you that self-doubt is a poison. If you doubt yourself, you will not be the King that you want to be and your people will also doubt you. If you believe, they will.

"When the time is right, the words will come to you."

Bolstered by Gwen's words, Arthur quoted, "'You've just got to believe in them. Because if you don't, they'll sense it, and the battle will be lost before it's even begun.' Merlin said that to me…just before the fight for Ealdor. I remember it to this day," he said curiously. "I never realized that it…._stuck_ with me."

"So you're not still afraid that you'll 'be stuck with the idiot forever'?" Gwen teased sarcastically, nudging him.

"Not if he's the idiot," Arthur deadpanned.

Gwen laughed. "You shouldn't worry. You told me yourself: everything seems to be alright when Merlin's involved. Besides, he has always been there for us, and he always will be. No matter how bleak things may look when you think of the people's reactions tomorrow, for better or for worse, he will be there."

"Always," Arthur sighed. With a small smile at the now running joke between him and Merlin, he added, "Do I have so little faith in destiny?"

She did not answer and watched the sunset in silence for some time before she asked incredulously, "How did we survive without him? Do you remember what it was like before he came to Camelot, Arthur?"

Arthur contemplated for a moment. He remembered a strutting blonde boy, an upturned nose of condescension and a swollen chest, thrust forward with egotistical pride. A bully in all but title. In Merlin's words: _a prat_. He remembered a painfully shy handmaiden, stuttering over her words and full of nervous mannerisms. He remembered a fiery-spirited young lady, her hair nearly as dark as Merlin's, with a tongue nearly as sharp as her pale, demanding eyes. He remembered his group of "friends," doting upon his every word, submitting to his every whim and demand. He remembered a weary physician, looking ever grayer by the day, his feet moving slower and slower and his eyes twinkling less. He remembered his joy at going on his first hunt, his fear at meeting his first sorcerer, his pride at going on his first patrol, his amusement at giving servants hell. His days…

"It was so… _boring_," Arthur finally said, his voice betraying his shock at how much had changed….at how much Merlin had brought into his life.

There was a brief silence, and suddenly, in the dying light of the golden sun, Arthur and Gwen began to laugh. The yellow rose appeared to soak up the laughter like a sponge, and standing against a mantle of crimson and off-white, it seemed all the brighter for it.

~…~

When Arthur, entered his chambers, he found Merlin lying on his made bed. He was absentmindedly levitating a cup, eyes distant. Once Arthur entered, he blinked the clouds from his eyes, caught the cup, and looked over with a grin.

Arthur froze, his hand still on the door handle, and stared at his extraordinarily bizarre friend, before he finally asked, "What the hell are you doing?"

Merlin rolled to his feet. "I was resting. Now I'm standing," he said cheekily. "Why? What're you doing?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose and ignoring the question, Arthur closed the door. "So…you chose _my_ bed to rest and play around with magic in? And you didn't think it was probably a prudent idea to—oh, I don't know—do so in _your_ chambers?"

"You do have a very soft, comfortable bed. I can see why you don't want to get out it," he said contemplatively. "And why you throw things at me when I wake you up in the morning."

It was too good. Just too good of an opening. _"Mer_lin!" Grinning and moving quickly, Arthur snatched an apple from the dish on his table and chucked it at Merlin.

However, the joke appeared to be on him. His teasing smile transformed into a disappointed scowl.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and the apple slowed its flight, and after hovering towards Merlin's outstretched hand gently, he caught it with deft fingers. "HA!" Merlin exclaimed, taking a bite. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do _that_!"

At Merlin's boisterous enthusiasm, Arthur's scowl disappeared, and he began to snigger. "I'm officially going to make it my mission to catch you unawares. Just to prove I can," he said, to which Merlin muttered "good luck" under his breath.

Unbuckling his sword belt and removing his formal jacket, he asked, "So why are you here? I don't believe you came just to catch a nap in my bed."

"Actually," Merlin said, swallowing a mouthful of apple and moving towards Arthur, "I came to give you something…an early coronation gift, I suppose."

Arthur stopped what he was doing. Merlin got him…a _gift_? "Merlin," Arthur began to protest guiltily, "You didn't—!"

Merlin's lips twitched into a sarcastic smile as he placed his half-eaten apple on a dirty platter from earlier in the day that had not yet been taken away. "Of course I did," he interrupted.

He dug his hand into his pocket and closed a fist over something in there.

"It isn't much, but it isn't little. It's something I wish I could've give you ages ago—it would have saved me and you both many headaches and pains—but I could hardly give something like that to you when you knew nothing of my magic…not that I was strong enough to do this then, anyway."

He pulled out his fist and opened it. Sitting on his palm was a plain ring about a centimeter and a half thick, attached to a thin, simple, long pendant chain. Merlin flung it over the young man's blonde head, and immediately, Arthur felt the subtle, fuzzy warmth of Merlin's magic. It wasn't distracting, but it was a subtle, noticeable presence. A constant reminder.

Arthur picked up the band and studied it. He inhaled sharply in surprise. Its color…was _anything_ but _plain_. It was a subdued sapphire blue color, swirling and melding perfectly with streaks of powdery gold, some parts more gold than blue. It pulsed in his hand, almost as though it had its own tiny heartbeat.

"This is beautiful, Merlin," he said appreciatively.

Merlin smiled widely. "The Knights and Gwen helped me purchase the chain and ring. Gwen actually picked out the chain herself. You know how girls are," he admitted sheepishly. "She was a good judge. I needed something that would look fit for a King to wear, but look discreet enough that no one would try to steal it or take it from you if you were captured…I only just got the ring and chain from Gwen last night before Samuel attacked me…"

_So _that'_s what he had in his pocket last night!_ Arthur realized.

"Anyway," Merlin said, realizing that he was digressing, "My only contributions were the protective spells I placed on it. The color was an interesting byproduct." He looked at the ring quizzically, as if waiting for it to tell him why it changed color.

"Protective spells?" Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded. "You can't be every where at once, can't see every enemy, and neither can I, so I thought this would be a good idea."

Arthur had to admit that it was definitely a good idea.

"I spent most of today working on it and strengthening the spells. So long as you wear it, you'll have some protection. I've enchanted it so that projectiles—arrows, crossbow bolts, boots to the temple—" Arthur raised an eyebrow, wondering if a boot to the temple really could kill him and if so, why someone would _want _use a boot, which he still hardly believed _could_ kill anyone, as a weapon. _Only __Merlin_...

Merlin ignored the eyebrow and continued, "—will be diverted from your path. I _could_'ve done certain shields to prevent swords from touching you, but I'd rather not get into that. Those spells would draw on your energy to be effective. The more deadly the blow, the more of your energy it would sap to divert it. Bad idea. Besides, I know you'd rather fight your own battles without that huge advantage. You're too honorable for that."

Gratitude filled his heart. "Wow, Merlin. That's…"

"I also prevented certain spells from touching you—"

"Certain spells?" Arthur interrupted incredulously. What did he do to deserve this loyalty from this young man? How much farther would Merlin go to ensure his safety? Was there a limit to the heart of the man before him?

"It isn't possible to block _all _magic with a single amulet," Merlin said, misinterpreting his question. "Even with a hundred different amulets, it wouldn't be possible. Besides, if I _did _somehow miraculously manage to make that happen, you will need me to use my magic on you without your charm blocking my powers. You might want me to help you disguise yourself for a mission, for example. And I think there may be a time you might need my healing magic to stop your guts from pouring out. Otherwise…"

"Lovely image, Merlin," Arthur mumbled, wincing and understanding the disadvantages of repelling _all _magic and _all _sorcerers. "Out of curiosity, was there a way that you could have prevented all but you from using magic on me?"

"What happens if both of us are unconscious and some Druids happen to come to our aid?"

"You really thought this through, didn't you?" Arthur asked, overwhelmed.

"There's no need to sound so surprised. If there's one thing I've learned by being your servant: it is that _anything_ can happen at any given time and that you, Arthur Pendragon, have the worst luck of anyone in the five kingdoms."

Arthur burst out laughing. "And I suppose that bad luck has no connection whatsoever with your illegal activities?" Arthur accused.

"Me?" Merlin asked innocently, a mischievous, impish smile on his face.

Tapping the ring, he asked, "So…?"

"You're guarded from 'that _astrice_ spell,' as you dubbed it" –Arthur smirked—"And various forms of that spell. I've noticed that a lot of sorcerers are partial to it, myself included (1). That'll give you the element of surprise if they use it against you. There are some other, smaller offensive spells—fire balls, spears of energy, et cetera—that I've seen over the years as well. I can always add more, if necessary—"

Arthur, completely overwhelmed by the invaluable and thoughtful gift, cut him off with a one-armed hug. "Thank you, Merlin."

"Thank me when it saves your life," Merlin teased, eyes dancing.

Arthur chuckled and stepped out of the hug, turning the ring over in his hand and running his thumb down the slippery smooth surface. The magic buzzed through it in an ever-flowing undercurrent…

"Merlin? How—how much magic did this require? How complicated was this for you to do?"

Merlin's usually pale face became flushed. "It was nothing," he mumbled, obviously lying.

Unwilling to let this go, Arthur ordered, "Don't lie to me, Merlin. You shouldn't have to lie about these things to me. Please don't."

Merlin sighed, submitting. "It is very complicated to unify so many spells into one object. The spells have to work in harmony. Most often, multiple spells in one object compete for dominance and lose a lot of their effectiveness and power. It is very difficult, very complex, to find the right balance. It took me _forever..."_

"But you did it. Not every sorcerer could accomplish this."

"If that were the case, we'd see a lot more of these protective pendants around, wouldn't we?" Merlin asked sagely.

Arthur studied Merlin carefully before clapping him on the shoulder. He said, "Every time I remember just how powerful you are, Merlin, my amazement at your modesty is renewed ten-fold. I am honored to be considered your friend, and I am proud to have someone like you at my side."

Merlin's eyes searched his own for a moment, and they flickered with undercurrents of gold. "You have changed so much since the day I stumbled upon you terrorizing that poor servant all those years ago," Merlin said, his voice full of emotion. "I never would have guessed that we would be standing here today—_friends_. Can you believe what has happened since then?"

From the small snippets of playful banter and witty sarcasm to the near-death horrors they had shared, from the arguments they had had to the thought of Merlin's smile and loyalty, from the first time Merlin had stood up to him to this very moment in time, the memories and adventures flashed blindingly fast; some were seemingly trivial, others not so much, but they were all dazzlingly powerful in their own ways.

"When we look back on today tomorrow, after I'm King and magic is no longer outlawed, the leap will seem even greater."

"Some leap," Merlin agreed, exhaling shakily. "It feels like both yesterday and a lifetime, doesn't it?

Arthur slugged Merlin on the shoulder. "For you, it was a lifetime. Tomorrow is the beginning of a new dawn."

Their eyes locked, the stormy blue meeting brilliant blue, a look of mutual respect, understanding, and fraternal love passing between them. There were so many things that both of them wished to say to the other, but at that moment, no words were necessary. They saw it all.

Merlin didn't have to thank Arthur again for embracing his magic so openly and easily, for not treating him any differently for it, or thank him for what he was going to attempt tomorrow; he didn't have to say how scared he was and how excited he was at the same time; he didn't have to tell Arthur how proud he was of him or how much he cared for him or say that he would remain by his side until his dying breath, loyalty unwavering, no matter the cost; he didn't have to tell Arthur that even though he was a prat, he was going to be a king of legends, the greatest king, the king once and future.

It shone through the kaleidoscope of his eyes.

Arthur didn't have to tell Merlin that he was going to defend him until the end; he didn't have to admit he was just as scared and excited as Merlin; he didn't have to thank him once again for everything that he'd done and for everything that he will do for him; he didn't have to reveal how much he truly desired for the people of Camelot to see Merlin as he did; he didn't have to tell Merlin that even though he was an idiot, one day he would be recognized for his deeds as the most famous sorcerer to walk the Earth.

It shone through the sky of his eyes.

They drew upon each other's strength—Arthur finding solace in Merlin's oxymoronic goofy-wise eyes and sunny smile, Merlin finding solace in Arthur's bright, resolute gaze and teasing smirk.

As different as they were, there was something just as similar. The two young men, bonded by not only fate, but by character—stubborn, pig-headed wills, intense morals of loyalty and friendship, consciences and hearts compassionate, noble, and righteous—saw and shared every fear, every joy, every ounce of gratitude and love, every dream.

Smiling through their unbidden tears, the warlock and future King embraced. Arthur felt Merlin's _aura_ magic wash over him, and he saw the blued-gold and golden blue dancing around their bodies, forever symbolizing the unbreakable bond that they shared.

They were not brothers in blood but in spirit.

And there was no amount of change that could _ever _change that.

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><p>AN: (1) This me making a joke. ;) That Morgana-MerlinEmrys battle in 4x06 was kinda disappointing, so I took a jab at it. :P

Yes, the speech WILL be in the next chap. Hope you've liked!


	9. City of Hope

Disclaimer: IDOM, and I actually do not own a part of Arthur's speech-a few lines are lyrics from the song **"City of Hope"** (Journey: Eclipse [2011]) This song has been such a huge inspiration for this fic, and_ I really suggest you listen to it in full because it is absolutely incredible how much it parallels with what I feel Merlin dreams for Camelot. Every single lyric relates to either him as a character or the city. _Brilliant song.

AN: :) Here's the end, all (YES, THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER! Lol). I'm sorry it took so long, but I was trying for something special...Do you know how some writers can cause shivers to run down your spine and when you're done reading, you just sit back and think "...WOW..."? That is what I was trying to accomplish here. Not sure if I succeeded, but I assure you that I did my very best to. :)

Enjoy:

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><p><strong>City of Hope<strong>

The cheers echoed through the city, surging in a unified thunder and rumble of sound. The words rang across the battlements, rebounded across the courtyards, towers, and gardens, and carried across the Lower Town. Camelot resonated with the noise.

From hundreds upon hundreds of throats, a shout: "Long live the King!"

Arthur looked out the double doors and out beyond the banister of the wide balcony, staring at the sea of color and movement below. He took a deep breath, the air cutting against his suddenly parched throat, and began fiddling with his protective charm; butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and his feet felt as though they had been suddenly filled with lead. That square had been used for so many sorcerer executions…He banished the thought from his mind.

No more.

The feeling was so surreal; he could hardly believe it. Only just a moment ago, he was on his knees, having given his oaths, and had the heavy, golden crown placed upon his head. He was King of Camelot.

It was something he would never forget, something that would stick with him forever—the image of Gwen, Gaius, and multiple others crying, the feeling of being surrounded by smiles of hope and joy…but it was Merlin's smile, a grin broader than Arthur had ever seen before, stretching across his face, that would hold the memory in place for the rest of his life.

Behind him, Merlin, Gaius, Gwen, Geoffrey, and the rest of the council hovered. The council members were staring at him strangely, and they were antsy. They had not heard a single word about his speech, and they were obviously waiting for him to physically pull out the parchment that he had prepared.

It was too bad for them that Arthur hadn't written a single word.

Gaius and Gwen were bouncing on the balls of their feet with worry. Their eyes flickered between the large gathering, to the two young men, concerned for both Arthur and Merlin's well-being if things…did not go according to plan.

Merlin, however, smiled at Arthur. He gave the King a reassuring glance, offering his support and strength, his nervousness only visible in the deepest depths of his eyes and his twitchy fingers.

_This is it,_ Merlin said in his head gently.

He didn't flinch at the contact this time, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement. It was time.

"Good luck," Merlin breathed aloud, shifting his weight helplessly.

Arthur steeled his will, and with a flourish of his scarlet cloak, he propelled himself out onto the balcony, unconsciously holding himself with erect confidence and regal poise. While he took place in full view of the people, whose unified chant had swelled, the others filed onto the balcony silently, lining themselves discreetly along the sides.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly and drove the fear from his mind. He searched for inspiration, the flare and spark he knew burned eternally in his breast, and drawing upon that strength, that hope, and knowing that Merlin was right there beside him, Arthur shook the trembles from his limbs, and fiery determination coursed through his veins.

He raised his gauntlet-adorned hand, and after one more mighty shout, the crowd shuffled restlessly and became eerily silent, eyes intent on the young King.

There had been complete silence for all about three seconds before Arthur heard a loud, obnoxious _"Woot!" _His eyes immediately swung to the cluster of cloaked Knights, finding Gwaine with his hands cupped around his mouth. He glared at him, and Leon—bless him—smacked Gwaine across the back of the head. Arthur heard sniggers from Merlin and from the Knights, and he failed to keep himself from showing amusement.

As the chortles faded, Arthur suddenly caught sight of a frantically waving hand to the right of his Round Table Knights, melding into the crowd of commoners. To his surprise and utter delight, he recognized the owner of the hand.

Though the Druids had discarded their distinguishable cloaks, there was no mistaking them. It was Enya, sitting high on Kynon's broad shoulders, Aislin standing beside. The little girl's long blonde curls flew about her face, her grin as infectious as Merlin's, grey eyes wide with excitement and awe. This was, after all, her first time seeing the city and castle.

Enya noticed that she got his attention and babbled excitedly to Aislin in an unheard whisper. Aislin shushed her with a finger to her lips and tweaked the little girl on the nose, pointing up at Arthur in an attempt to get her to listen and behave. All the while, Kynon held one of his wife's hands, never dropping it for an instant.

A perfect family.

Arthur's heart began to thump wildly in his chest, and he began to sweat. So many people! The sheer number of people standing there overwhelmed him, and before he could lose his calm confidence altogether, he gritted his teeth and dropped his hand.

"Thank you," Arthur said, his voice steady. "I would like to take a moment to remember my father, Uther Pendragon. May he rest in peace."

There was an unintelligible mumble as they repeated his blessing, bowing their heads in respectful remembrance.

Arthur paused in silence for a few moments, his eyes closed once again. He wished that his father could be there now, and the moment the thought hit his mind, he perceived a presence. It might've been his imagination, but before his eyelids, he saw them…as a feeling, a soft glow, and he knew that both of his parents were there, watching over him and proud.

His father's words rang in his head, "_For it was my actions, and my actions alone that began this war—and now it will have to be your actions that either continue it or end it."_

Then, Arthur truly began: "Some may hear the name Pendragon and cringe. Many saw my father, having been blinded by his paranoia of magic, as cruel. He was seen as merciless: he ruled with an iron fist, often cutting down his enemies without so much as a second glance. Others feared his temper and his lack of judgment because of it, but all the same, we looked up to him, knowing that he would ultimately lead us through the darkness. He kept us fed and our homes safe. He did what he thought was best for this kingdom and nothing less. Otherwise, he was distant. Only a name. Hardly a face. He was King, and he once told me that a King could not rule the people as well as befriend them.

"I disagreed then, and standing before you now as King myself, I know that I wasn't wrong to disagree."

"This was neither the first time nor the last that I disagreed with my father. He was a hard man to live with. Stubborn," he joked. He was pleased to hear responding chuckles, and his confidence grew. "For most of my life, I watched him never sway in his judgment, and his confidence was inspiring to me. He seemed to bear the weight of responsibility effortlessly, and there was nothing I wanted more than to one day be the King that he was. I followed orders obediently and trained hard, hoping that I would make him proud. It was some time before I realized that I was not Uther and that I never would be. So, slowly, almost unconsciously, I made myself into my own man, and I fought for what I felt was right, not only relying on logic, as my father had taught, but also the heart to make my decisions.

"This is my promise to you. I have said it more than once: I am not Uther. I've been told that I've inherited my father's stubborn head—more generous people might call it _willpower_—but if anything, I only wish I have inherited his clever intuition and his calm strength and quick thinking in the face of trial and difficulty. And I can only hope that I did _not_ inherit his temperament and guarded nature. This was his failing as both King and father, and I, even if I did inherit these traits, _will not_ repeat his mistakes.

"It is strange. I feel that I hardly knew him until he died. I saw him, more or less, as I have just described him. I did love him, but he was more my King than my father. It was his duty, as it was mine as a Prince. Sometimes, this harsh relationship slipped. Laughter, teasing, some intense near fatal experiences on my part revealed how much he truly cared for me as his son. But the night he died, his last words to me were spoken as my father—there was no King present. Only a father, dying and more open of his love than he had ever been.

"The things he told me!" Arthur exclaimed. "Whether you wish to believe it or not, I assure you that Uther Pendragon was perhaps one of the bravest men I have ever known. It takes a lot of courage to admit that you were wrong—" the crowd had been captivated by his words, but there seemed to be an even higher level of attentiveness as his words took this turn—"to confess that your mistakes had spawned a whole new level of danger, and to apologize for your deeds… that takes even more courage.

"In his last moments of life, he revealed who he truly was. He had been a man, hidden a behind a nearly unbreakable, stony, gravely emotionless mask of sternness and seriousness, but suddenly, he transformed, becoming a man of unquestionable compassion and insight. In his search for forgiveness—for not only being a poor father, but for leaving behind a legacy of fear—which I gave without hesitation, he was finally able to depart peacefully."

Arthur's voice suddenly changed, becoming even stronger, surer, and clearer. "But he did not leave us in peace. The war on magic has left our land divided and its people scarred (1). In our fear, we have hunted them—sorcerers. In their fear, they have been driven to defend themselves, and they have allowed hatred and revenge to fuel their hearts. When will this war end? Whose fear and mistrust will win out? Who will destroy the other? If the fear is not counteracted, we will begin to destroy ourselves… and our beautiful kingdom reduced to nothing more than dust. Our fear, the legacy of the Purge, is driving us further and further from what we can really be and who we truly are. I say _we_. It is not just _them_; it is not just _us. _No, it never had been, no matter how much we believe—_believed_—it."

There were some confused mutterings, and the crowd shifted, looking like a ripple of sea-waves. Arthur knew that he was being ambiguous, and he did not hesitate or pause, his true opinion near to revealing itself. There was no turning back now.

"I dream of Camelot being a place beyond our fears, where miracles happen and where freedom sings. I see a foundation of faith and trust, a network of love, binding us all. I see a city of hope, where truth can be heard, and it is time for the truth to be heard.

"My father told me the night he died that in order to make my decision—the decision as to how to continue to deal with magic—I had to understand _why_ the Purge began. Before the Purge, I learned, Camelot was a different place. A _very_ different place. Some of you are old enough to remember this time.

"It was a time that magic was not associated with evil. In fact, it had been revered and celebrated, and for those who did not abuse it, they were allowed to practice it and study it to their heart's content. The kingdom was prosperous and peaceful. Don't be mistaken: there was evil and there were some threats, just as there are now, but the difference? Then, we had magic to combat magic. My father had welcomed a sorceress to court, and with her knowledge, he was able to better protect the people of Camelot from those abusive magic-users and Dark creatures of the Old Religion. Her name: Nimueh."

Flinches of recognition made the sea shudder violently. Those who remembered her did not do so fondly—Uther had made sure of that by so cruelly and publicly denouncing her and her kin.

"My father admitted that she was a friend to both him and my mother. Yes, Queen Igraine, King Uther, a high priestess of the Old Religion—friends." A small smile touched his lips at the thought. "He told me that when my mother and he could not conceive an heir, they went to Nimueh for magical assistance. She granted their request, warning them of the consequences: it was a magical law—a life for a life—for one to live, one must die. In the end, Igraine died; I lived. And so, in his blind grief, my father began the war against magic. Yet, there I was, _born_ of magic."

Sharp gasps echoed through the city, and Arthur cringed at the sound. But, as soon as the noise began, it was choked off. Arthur's eyes widened briefly. They had accepted this revelation, their initial, violent shock fizzling to interested curiosity, quite easily. From the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin's impressed face—he obviously had not expected Arthur to make this public knowledge, and he was proud, Arthur could tell, that the young King had had the courage to do so. His stormy eyes were gauging the people now, and Arthur saw that he was just as surprised as he was at their placid silence.

Arthur continued, "It was not magic that began the Purge. It was neither its evil nor its goodness. No, my mother's death and my resulting birth broke Uther—in his mind, magic became the enemy. This was the beginning of the Purge.

"In reality," Arthur said musingly, "I am the true cause of the Purge, and in accordance with my father's law, I should have been executed many, many years ago. To continue to pretend that I am not breaking his law by simply existing is nothing short of hypocrisy."

Arthur saw some nods and the glint of many wide eyes staring up at him. "And this," Arthur said, "is the least of the reasons why I am lifting the ban on magic."

Arthur saw the jerks of the council members around him, but his resolute look was enough to make them keep their silence. He felt their turbulent emotions rolling off of them in waves. On the other hand, Geoffrey was unobtrusively eyeing Merlin with interested eyes, seemingly unsurprised at Arthur's announcement, Gwen and Gaius were watching the reactions of the people, and Merlin was grinning again, his eyes on his boots.

The people…just did not react. Perhaps they simply could not believe that he had said those words. The sea froze over, and then it began to churn and whisper; there were no crashing waves—neither joyous applause nor angry rioting—of any kind. Only whispers, maddeningly incomprehensible.

"Nothing is certain in uncertain times. It is hard," Arthur admitted, "to see beyond the greed and the crime. We have had too many sorcerers and Dark creatures attack our walls and our hearts in the years following the Purge to deny that it is hard and that this change is frightening.

"But, if you think about it, are any of the magic-users truthfully to blame for their actions? Yes and no. I'm sure you understand why yes, but why no? If we had not persecuted them, if we had not shunned them and called their gifts evil and wrong, if we had not hunted them and killed them for their magic, there would be no fear and violence, no injustice and inhumanity. There would be no thirst for vengeance. The Lady Morgana would never have become the enemy that she has become, and we would not be seeing her as our greatest threat in the times to come. She would not have become corrupted by power. If we did not react so negatively to our fear of magic, if we did not have such strong prejudices, she would be standing here with us now, a friend, a daughter, a sister to us all. It is our fault—mostly the Pendragons' fault—that we have suffered at the hands of magic, and it is our fault that we now believe that all magic is evil.

"I cannot reverse the effects of the Purge; I cannot alter history, and I cannot fully repair the sins that my father had committed, but I can begin to stitch the wound together. For the hellish hands of consuming fear and ignorance to stop creeping into our hearts and minds, we need to see the light. And the truth: magic is neither good nor evil—it just is, and we are foolish not to recognize its place in our world. Just as I wield my sword for Camelot and a bandit wields his for selfish gain, a Druid uses his magic for healing and renegade uses his for destruction. There is a choice."

Even from above, Arthur could see the glistening tears, glimmering like tiny gemstones, on Aislin's face. A lump rose in his throat at the sight.

"And this is mine. For peace to ensue and prevail, the ban on magic must be lifted. For that is all I want: peace. This is my vision, and this is our destiny."

The crowd applauded politely. For the majority of those standing there (with the exception of his Round Table Knights and the Druids) that was all it was—tensely polite—and they only did so in respect for their King, their confusion and uncertainty leaking through the rather reluctant applause.

"You probably all think I'm mad," Arthur said softly, an overpowering compassion rising up inside him. The people stilled immediately at the tone in his voice. "Both of my parents' deaths were somehow and someway connected to magic. I have ridden against Dragons, griffins, beasts of hell. I have fought witches, renegades, and a few immortal armies. I have felt the keen sting of betrayal. Yes," Arthur said sadly, "The wounds that my half-sister inflicted during the Bellum Sanguinis still run deep, and her betrayal will never be forgiven or forgotten.

"With all of the horrible memories of troubled times you and I carry, you probably wonder how I can be so sure that this decision will bring peace, how I can be so sure that Camelot will not crumble and burn…how I can be so sure that this is our destiny. When we have seen more evil than good, how can I?

"Because my Knights and I do not ride and fight these evils alone. We do not ride with merely sword and sinew. We ride and we fight with magic at our side."

Merlin's hand flew up to his mouth to cover a panicked squeak, and swaying like a travel-weary sailor stepping off a boat onto land for the first time in days, he whispered hoarsely, only just loud enough for him to hear, "Arthur? What—what're you—?"

Arthur flashed him a smile, and he heard Gwen, whose comforting hand tried to steady him, say in a tender undertone, "He's freeing you."

The young King couldn't have said it better himself, and with strong memories and with an even stronger love, he pressed forward, wanting, more than ever before—wanting so much that it hurt—Merlin to be fully rewarded and recognized for all of his deeds.

"There are two sides to every story. This is the story of a warlock. Well, it is only _part _of his story. The full tale would take hours to retell—that will come in its own time.

"You may not know this warlock personally, but you should recognize him. He's walked amongst us for years, hidden in plain sight, always watching and protecting from the shadows with a steadfast loyalty. Even out of the shadows, where we all can see him, his loyalty knows no bounds. But it is in the shadows that he uses his magic.

"Without any selfish need for recognition or reward…without regard for his own life, he has flung himself headfirst and armor-less into danger and has emerged victorious, an unspoken hero and savior. More often than not, he stood silent as my knights and I unknowingly took credit for his deeds, and he was never once bitter—maybe a bit amused and maybe a bit hopeless for his situation—but _never_ bitter for it. For all that he has done for us…it is more than fair that I finally reveal and relate just how much he has done, how much he has sacrificed for us.

"With the aid of two other brave men to watch his back, he went after the Cup of Life during the Bellum Sanguinis and broke the enchantment fueling the immortal army, and in the battle for the Cup, he felled the witch Morgause, causing Morgana to flee. We have recently received intelligence that leads us to believe that Morgause will never recover from the injury."

There was a sudden roar from the crowd, and there was a huge movement as people turned to their neighbors, friends, and family and embraced each other. Arthur watched them with a small grin; the news of one vicious enemy's downfall certainly was a cause for celebration.

Arthur waited, his smile broadening, and then he went on, "He, the last of a noble race, born of a Dragon-Lord, befriended the Great Dragon and saved us all from his wrath when he turned on Camelot after his escape. He recaptured the ancient sorcerer Sigan's soul, which stopped the living stone gargoyles from destroying the city. When Cenred attacked last year, he was the one to obliterate the skeleton army, turning the tide of the battle. He has slain more Dark creatures and has thwarted more plans and plots for my death and even my father's death than I can say, and he has saved my life more times than even that."

Merlin's face flushed in his modest embarrassment and grew redder with each word, and unshed tears clung to his eyelashes, threatening to fall, but Gaius, in a fatherly gesture, and Gwen, in a sisterly gesture, had each taken one of his long-fingered hands. This did not go unnoticed by the council, and they, with wide eyes and sudden smirks at the realization of irony, were beginning to see that there was no doubt as to who Arthur was speaking of.

"What I find most incredible: he does not falter in his loyalties. Not once, not ever, nor will he ever. He has been by my side since the beginning…though I took my time realizing it. Without him, I wouldn't be here today, and neither would you.

"But _why_? Why would a sorcerer help _us_? Isn't magic supposed to be undeniably evil? This man had every reason to leave us to the mercy of every threat that he miraculously disposed of. His family was torn apart by the Purge; I killed the love of his life. He, having been _born_ with magic, lived in constant fear of execution his whole life, knowing that the tiniest slip could incriminate him; he lived with horrible prejudice, and he experienced, saw, and listened to us all denounce people like him for simply having magic. He had lie to his friends day in and day out, and he had to lock away a huge part of himself. His magic is extraordinarily powerful, and he could so easily use that power for his own gain. But he doesn't.

"So _why_ would he continuously risk his life for Camelot? He has magic; he lives through these injustices and pains—and yet, he protects us all. He had learned to smile through it all, and he pushed through with the hope that one day his gifts will be recognized for what they really are and that one day, he can convince a certain stubborn Prince that he is not evil. That magic is not evil.

"He is no ordinary sorcerer. No, he is much more than that. He was born in a small farming village, but I have met no man more noble. He is the most powerful man I have ever met, but there are none more modest. He humbles himself working as a servant, but he is spoken of in high esteem in Druid Prophecy as being the greatest warlock to ever walk the land. He is wise beyond his years, and he's a goofy idiot at the same time. He's disobedient and obstinate, helpful and compassionate, courageous and trustworthy. He has a sharp wit and wicked sense of humor to match. Whether he knows it or not, I wouldn't be who I am without him, and I wouldn't have gained a friend like him if he hadn't stood up to me all those years ago.

"When I first met him—when he first graced me with his insolent retorts, idiotic smile, and blatant disrespect—I never expected us to come to this…friendship—this brotherhood. If you look back to our infamous Lower Town mace-war and you think about the first time he saved my life—the same day that he became my servant—when we knew nothing of our joined destinies, ignorant to the bond that would grow between us, you never would have expected that Arthur Pendragon and a servant would become friends. And I don't think you'd ever expect him to ask his servant to become Court Sorcerer.

"I found out about his magic just under a week ago, and though I thanked him then, I thank him now, from the very bottom of my heart." Arthur's eyes strayed to Merlin's and locked. "I thank him for going beyond the line of duty, for changing me, for putting up with me, for never failing me, for protecting us all, for giving us another chance to see another day, for simply being…" Arthur paused, severely struggling for the right words, "_Merlin_."

Arthur gestured for Merlin to come stand at his right side, but Merlin, who was overwhelmed to an incredible degree, merely gave him a dazed look, obviously still disbelieving that this was happening.

Gwen gave him a small shove forward and whispered, "Go on, Merlin."

Seeing that Merlin wasn't going to come forward, Arthur smirked and grabbed Merlin's arm, and he dragged the unresisting, wide-eyed warlock to the front with him, and he turned back to the people, waiting.

It started with one clap from Lancelot. The rest of the Round Table Knights quickly took up the applause…Before Camelot suddenly erupted into applause and cheers. Whistles and shouts of encouragement and support sang throughout the square.

Beside him Merlin exhaled a pent-up breath shakily, and Arthur laughed before ruffling his raven-haired locks.

"I—I can't believe it," Merlin whispered, his captivating eyes scanning the people below.

Arthur grinned, but did not reply, allowing Merlin the chance to soak it all in.

When the crowd settled, faces beaming, Arthur addressed Merlin, "It is time I returned the favor: there is no one I trust more, and there is no one that deserves this more than you, Merlin. Do you accept my offer? "

To his intense surprise, Merlin spoke loudly and confidently, and pretending to be deep in thought, he asked jokingly, "Do I still have to polish your armor?"

The crowd laughed, and the people on the balcony all chuckled, observing the two, King and warlock, with reverence and respect.

"Only if you get on my nerves," Arthur teased. "It's not like you can't magic it clean in less than sixty seconds, right?"

"Prat," Merlin laughed, and with an exhilarated and joyful grin rivaling the one Arthur saw at his coronation, he bowed his dark head and lowered himself to one knee. "To you, Arthur Pendragon," he said, "I swear fealty." His eyes seemed even to glow like pale blue flames in the bright sunlight as they met Arthur's. "I promise to do my utmost to help you in anyway that I can to protect his land, with or without magic, as I always have, and though I accept your offer gratefully and happily, I will forever be your servant. Until the day I die."

Arthur stared at his former manservant, and brushing away his sudden tears, he offered Merlin a hand, saying above the applauding crowd, "Rise, Merlin Emrys, Court Sorcerer of Camelot."

The young man rose clumsily, raising an amused, exasperated, and confused eyebrow at the second name he had been given.

"I want there to be no doubt as to who you truly are," Arthur explained to the warlock alone. "And I want none of them to doubt my faith in you."

Merlin, blushing again, said, "Thank you, Arthur. For this chance, for sharing this dream, for making it a reality… For everything."

"There's nothing to thank me for," Arthur said.

He shook his head, disagreeing with the statement, and he suddenly lost all bravery in the face of the giant crowd, his awed disbelief overtaking him once again. The words that followed were soft and as quiet as nonexistent breeze, but he heard them clearly and smiled. "Do I really have such little faith in destiny?"

"Sometimes," Arthur replied with a hearty chuckle, now feeling light and giddy from the release of anxiety and weight from his chest. "Sometimes."

Arthur shouted to the crowd, "For Merlin, my friend and brother, to live free, and for us all to live in peace, I officially lift the ban on magic. Any person possessing magic will be judged just as fairly as any person not possessing magic, and anyone found abusing their magic for reasons of treason, murder, thievery, and any other crime will be punished fittingly—just as any non-magical murderer or criminal would. My plans beyond fixing the judicial system are extensive. In time, I hope to establish relations with the Druids, and I hope to recover and reinstate some magical education in our children's lives.

"This is the beginning of a new era, Camelot, and I'm proud to be a part of it. Ignorance will be eradicated, fear and hate uprooted. That you have opened your eyes and that you have accepted our vision so readily is already one step closer to what I dream…In time, Camelot will truly become a city of hope."

Merlin began to grin at his boots again, and he remained at Arthur's right side in front of the people as they, once again, began to cheer, where he would remain always.

It was then that they all heard a beautiful sound—music of a sort. It was magical, ethereal, and eerie, spoken in an ancient, powerful language, and Arthur felt his heart fill with hope for the future. He had heard this voice, this language, once before, and even as Merlin immediately turned his brilliant, amused, and exasperated gaze skyward and as the people began to point at the sky and shout in both terror and amazement, he knew that he was listening to a dragon's song. _The _song.

Once the enchanting music ceased, Kilgharrah released a satisfied jet of golden flames, and he winked at Arthur and Merlin before straining his wings upward and away, sailing the winds and cutting through the cloudless, eternal sky of that magnificent, unforgettable day.

~…~

The feast was extraordinary. The council members, Gaius, knights and Round Table Knights, visiting noblemen and noblewomen, Lords and their Ladies, Gwen, Merlin, and a few special guests—including Aislin, her respected mother and camp healer, Faye, Enya, Kynon, and his father, the leader of their camp— (the people were spending their day off work celebrating as they wished) all congregated around the massive table, piled with heaps upon heaps of steaming food and jugs upon jugs of sweet wine, which Merlin avoided, saying in an undertone to a whining and teasing Gwaine, "I wouldn't want to scare them all off. It is only the first day."

Arthur and Merlin, much to his embarrassment, had been questioned nonstop, and Merlin's magic, the Druid's and Kilgharrah's presence, and Arthur's plans concerning magic overtook much of the conversation.

Merlin was uncomfortable at the beginning of the feast and incredibly shy, but slowly, he began to regain his cheeriness and his humor. Despite the presence of nobility, he was being himself… completely himself—to Arthur's surprise, he even used some magic openly when Enya nearly dropped some food onto an expensive dress—and the look on some of the stuffy Ladies' and Lords' faces in reaction to his quirky ways and behaviors was hysterical. The best part was that they could hardly complain about his lack of protocol. Not without the possibility of offending one very bizarre and powerful sorcerer, one King, or one group of extremely protective Knights.

Merlin's face seemed to be permanently molded into a smile as more and more subtle signs of acceptance, comfortableness, and awe appeared and revealed themselves. Arthur, Gwen, and Gaius, all three glowing with pride, watched him often, and by being so open and so friendly, Merlin caused most of the lingering fear to fade without a trace.

There was one incredible moment when Geoffrey, who came in late for reasons unknown, in front of everyone, bowed to Arthur in congratulations and then to Merlin. He had stuttered, "It truly is an honor, Merlin Emrys."

Once Geoffrey had taken a seat, a semi-disgruntled Merlin had muttered to Arthur, "Looks like that is going to be permanent."

Arthur had laughed, and then, when Gwen worried that Morgana would recognize the name and realize who he really was, Merlin, too, began to laugh. Even Gwen dropped her worries and couldn't help but giggle as well.

It was just…indescribable—how Arthur felt, seeing Merlin in his true place, interacting with those around him in a way he never had before—the lost look gone from his eyes, the secrets lifted from his face—and as those around him opened their eyes and _saw_ as he saw, he had never felt more proud of anything he had ever done.

He had not failed Merlin.

It did not surprise him when Percival caught his eye and jerked his head towards the door. In fact, he had been expecting it. What surprised him was the fact that Merlin had lasted this long.

As happy as Merlin was about the reaction to Arthur's announcement, Arthur knew that, at some point, it would be too much for the warlock and that he would need to have some time alone to think. After something like that…well, Arthur could understand why someone would want some time alone. And it was a notorious habit of his, after all—sneaking off.

Arthur excused himself from the table, and after extracting something that he, in clever foresight, had asked Gwen to place under his chair before the feast, he kissed Gwen and followed Merlin.

He found the young man where he thought he would, perched on the wall overlooking the entrance to the city, watching the sunset and hugging his knees, a few tear-streaks staining his scarred cheekbones.

Arthur slowly approached, the package under his arm, to make sure he didn't startle him. Merlin acknowledged his presence with a small smile, and for a moment, the two stood in companionable silence. They didn't need to talk. They just needed each other there to share their unspoken thoughts, which ran in sync and in perfect harmony.

"I have something for you," Arthur finally said, taking the gift out from under his arm.

Merlin looked at Arthur curiously and then at the lumpy item Arthur placed in his hands.

Merlin gave him a stern look. "After today, do you really think I need or _want_ anyth—"

"Just open it, you idiot," Arthur interrupted.

Merlin saw the eagerness in Arthur's eyes, and with a reluctant smirk, he tore at the messy paper packaging and pulled out a long, midnight-blue hooded cloak.

He blinked and began to laugh, hot tears of mirth welling up in his eyes, and he doubled over, trying without success to catch his breath. "Is—is this—" he managed to say, clutching at his ribs, "Is this what I think it is?"

Arthur watched his friend with satisfaction for his reaction, and he said, "Yes. I know how much you liked it as Dragoon…and it seemed fitting to me."

Merlin wiped the tears from his face and gleefully threw the cloak around his shoulders.

Arthur took a step back and surveyed him. "Now all you need is your staff and a beard, and it'll complete the picture!" Arthur joked.

Merlin gave him a playful shove, and the two young men broke out simultaneously into snorts and laughter, all of their anxieties gone, all of their doubts disappeared. All that remained: friendship, love, and hope. And complete giddiness.

They laughed with relief, relief that Destiny had indeed prevailed and that they, her messengers, had saw through what it was that they needed to see through. They laughed with the realization that they were free and that their dream was now real and that Camelot was on its way to something greater than it ever had been before.

Even though they knew their work was hardly done, even though they knew that the change that they had pressed was going to bring new, trying challenges, even though they knew nothing but everything would be the same, they laughed.

They knew that Merlin would face some anti-magic prejudice for a little while. They knew that Arthur would struggle adapting to the responsibilities as King. They knew that Morgana _would _come.

And they were going to be ready.

But those were worries for another day and another time. Today, they had sought to confront fear and had won the battle. Today, there was every need for celebration. Arthur Pendragon was King; Merlin Emrys was Court Sorcerer. Everything was as it should be.

Finally, when their laughter calmed, Arthur said, "C'mon, Merlin. We don't want to be late."

Before dismissing the people, he had invited them to a bonfire at nightfall to honor the innocents—those who had magic and those who had been falsely blamed alike—who had been executed during the Purge and all others that fell as Uther continued to fight magic.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Arthur asked him. "Would you like to start the fire?"

Without hesitation, Merlin agreed, seeing that Arthur thought it would send a more powerful message of forgiveness and repentance if the newly instated Court Sorcerer was to do it with magic. "I'd be honored."

They—two of the most powerful men in the world, the two whose legend would inspire millions and create a new form of magic— began to walk side-by-side, Arthur's scarlet cloak and Merlin's midnight cloak billowing about their boots as they teased and bickered with each other.

They were walking forward into unknown territory, nearly blind, but they weren't walking alone, and they weren't hesitating for the briefest moment.

Because, really, what was the point in doubting destiny?

* * *

><p>AN: (1) Line inspired by Zuko's speech in the finale of Avatar: the Last Airbender<p>

Another thrilling ride, guys. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you've liked it and that it wasn't too disappointing for you.

Do I have any plans for a sequel to this sequel? Not at the moment, and I'm pretty sure that it is going to stay that way. But, I may do some one-shot companions. I was already thinking of writing the full Whump scene in this fic (when Godwin sends Samuel to dispose of Merlin before heading to kill Arthur), for one. Quite honestly, I don't think I could do another multi-chapter fic during the school year. This one really wore me out. :P

Enjoy the rest of series 4!

Hugs,

Oz

**Edit 06/12: What I've said above is kinda null and void, seeing as there is now a sequel... ;)**


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